


there's space in the spotlight for everyone (but you don't want it, do you)

by orphan_account



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - This is the story about the trials and tribulations of Johnny Weir, model and fashionista by day, dedicated designer-intern by night. The occasional hook-up can be forgiven, though it does become a little awkward when working with one of them becomes a requisite: meet Stéphane Lambiel, Olympic silver medalist in figure skating, hard at work to find Change and Inspiration, which is not so easy in this day and age. Or at least, not until Johnny Weir starts to bicker with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fashion Universe stolen from Gossip Girl :)

 

"We're going," [Carolina said](http://farm1.static.flickr.com/49/130503040_c19ee78e2f.jpg) an hour before the show was scheduled to start. "You can't chicken out on me now."

"It's going to be boring." [Stéphane](http://www.stephanelambiel.ch/upload/galerie/76/1883.jpg) sat his latte onto the table and gave her a wry look. "Since you so conveniently forgot to mention that it'll be a menswear show."

"That's because I thought you wouldn't mind, seeing as it's an exclusive, private show that hardly anyone gets to see. Waldorf Designs flew in their newest menswear collection from the US to Italy specifically to present to sponsors. Plus, you need inspiration for the coming winter; [the zebra might have been big news last season](http://www.pierasys.ch/main.html?src=%2F452%2F24401.html%3F*session*id*key*%3D*session*id*val*), but try to top that this year."

Stéphane rolled his eyes. "The zebra was perfect. I should keep with the animal theme. Make it a leopard next season. Leopard skin and leather, and show off lots of cleavage."

"See, and that is exactly why we're going to the show," Carolina told him with a grin. "Now finish your coffee, or we'll be late. Traffic to the venue's always a bitch."

Stéphane sipped on unmoved. "We have more than enough time. Relax. These shows always take a while to warm up. The models won't come out till, like, eight." It was going on five pm.

"I'm not taking that risk. Do you know who's gonna be there?"

"Who?"

"[Johnny Weir](http://www.figureskatersonline.com/johnnyweir/nigel/23.jpg). That's why I got the tickets in the first place; I cannot believe you didn't know! He's said to be the face of the new Eleanor Waldorf collection in fall."

Stéphane stared at her for a second, then he abruptly stood up. "All right," he said. "Let's go."

"What? Sudden change of heart?" Carolina was smirking at him as she picked up her purse.

"I was done with my coffee. Though - I heard Weir was in New York right now? Or was he part of that falling-out with Marc Jacobs? Vogue had a blurb about a huge fight between Waldorf and Jacobs, and since Weir's both their favorite, maybe he got caught in the middle -?"

"I see it more clearly now. You're _really_ not interested in men's fashion. Maybe we should go home after all," Carolina teased. She tugged her jacket straight and pulled out her car keys as they headed out towards the parking lot. They'd had to park a few blocks down while here; this being Milan, they'd be lucky to find parking space at all within walking distance to the venue the fashion show was supposed to take place in.

Stéphane claimed shotgun when they got to the car. "Fine," he admitted, making himself comfortable in the seat. "Tell me who else will be there."

"I hear Fortune Magazine's Walt is sitting front row, along with some American It-girls of the Paris Hilton type; TNS Italy is sending a high-ranking employee -"

"I meant the models. I don't care who sits in the front row."

Carolina wiggled her eyebrows and started the engine. "I know."

 

~*~  
[Listen "Tegan&Sara - Superstar"](http://www.dilandau.com/download_mp3/b6d2759a6ff59f70d6763c731a35c117)

 

There was maybe one thing more tedious than after-show parties with dozens of old rich men and barely-legal bottle-blondes wearing too deep décolletées, and that was sex with either of those. It was a good thing, [Johnny Weir thought as he leaned against the bar](http://www.adicarlo-makeup.com/images/portfolio/Grooming/002Johnny%20Weir_Angela_Blk%20Book%207.jpg?1233426003), that he was only suffering his second-biggest nightmare right now.

"God, these people are boring," a voice behind him said and then a hand settled on his ass, almost leading to a minor case of physical assault if he hadn't noticed just in time that it was Charlie sliding in place beside him, long-stemmed champagne glass in hand, eyeing Ben for an answer.

"Necessary evil, I'm afraid," Ben shrugged. Nothing could faze Ben. Charlie always tried. It was amusing to watch, and more entertaining than anything else that was going on.

"Are you not having a good time?" he asked with enough jeer in his voice that they both glanced over to him.

"As soon as we find Eleanor, it'll improve," Ben half-smiled, and took the glass out of Charlie's hand when he leaned in to take a sip. "None of that, White."

"I'm legal here," Charlie protested.

"Not while I'm standing next to you, you're not."

"Fine," Charlie huffed and got back off his seat. "I'm going to find Daisuke and Kimmie. Weir." He gave Johnny a goodbye nod.

"That went well," Johnny commented, watching Charlie vanish into the not-too dense crowd. There weren't as many people here as Eleanor had expected, he knew, and he wasn't stupid. He'd caught glimpses of the books, and the computers weren't passworded against his account, so he'd seen the balances. Financially, Waldorf Designs was not in the best place.

"He's being a pubescent little bitch," Ben said and swigged the glass of champagne in one big gulp. "You'd think he'd be over it at nineteen."

"Eighteen," Johnny reminded him. "You should just fuck him. He wants you to. You want to. The sexual tension would go _puff_." He made a hand-gesture.

"Girlfriend," Ben reminded him.

"So?"

"So not all of us are indiscriminate sluts, remember? Some of us do believe in long-ish two-person relationships."

Johnny grinned. "I'm discriminate. Believe me, I'm very picky."

"Like what? Requirements: a) a big dick, b) a big dick, c) a big dick?"

"Ha ha, very funny. See, that's what I'm looking for in a man. _You_ 're funny. Come on, let's go fuck."

Ben rolled his eyes. "I would, you know. Except for the part where I have a girlfriend."

"Fine. Then your mission for tonight will be to find me a suitable - oh, look. Mission accomplished. Now get out of my face." Johnny handed him his drink, shoved past him and headed for [tonight's conquest.](http://www.factory121.ch/press/pdf/121Time-Lambiel-by-Lionel_Deriaz.jpg)

 

~*~  


  
[Marvin Gaye - Let's Get It On (live In Montreux...](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

When Carolina had gotten a hold of the friend of the friend who'd arranged for their tickets, Stéphane had been surprised to see it was Kimmie Meissner. He didn't need to be following women's fashion very closely to know her, what with her being the new Ladies World Champion.

He'd read that she was retiring and he followed women's fashion closely enough to know that she was trying for a modeling career instead as she'd been getting offers to model for some of the better-known designers in the past few months. Apparently Alexander Wang had voiced interest in contracting her. At the very least, she wasn't nameless in the business since she'd done that shoot with Steven Meisel back in May.

"Hi Caro, it's so good to see you, and you too, Stéphane, we haven't really talked before, have we?" Kimmie had said, and greeted them both with hugs and little kisses just minutes after the fashion show. "You should come to the after-party! It's held at a private location just outside the city, but you can follow my car to get there. One of the investors who is financing the event owns an estate there, isn't that cool?" And, barely catching a breath, she'd added, "You have to meet Daisuke! He was amazing tonight, wasn't he? I love watching him do his thing on the catwalk, I was so glad they saved a few seats for friends and acquaintances!"

Stéphane had rather thought maybe the seats hadn't been saved as much as unfilled because no one else had wanted to come, but he refrained from commenting. She was excited, and even now, just arrived at the party, she threw herself into the crowd with enthusiasm, waving a _see-you-later,-enjoy-yourselves_ in their direction.

"This is insane," Carolina commented, looking around. The word 'estate' was no understatement. There was a swimming pool out back, which some of the it-girls from before had already located, getting rid of their clothes to jump in. The music was playing so loud it was hard to understand a word.

"We shouldn't stay long," Stéphane said. Then squinted. "Unless there's karaoke."

"Of course. Unless there's _karaoke_. Then we'll stay into the morning hours."

"Sarcasm is the last defense of the terminally unfunny."

"You _need_ to stop making up those stupid sayings."

"It's not made up."

"No, you just got it off LiveJournal. Oh, look, there's Ben Agosto! He's that photographer who's been working with Tanith Belbin. He looks even hotter in person. I should go say hi. Will you get me a drink?"

"What sort of drink?" Stéphane called after her, but she was already out of hearing range. He sighed and took a few steps into the room. It was then that he realized that he didn't actually know anyone here well enough to approach them and start talking. He wondered what he was supposed to do next. Bar? Or dance floor? Maybe if he went to the pool, he could strike up a conversation with some of the girls -

"I think you misplaced your girlfriend," someone said behind him.

Stéphane jumped in surprise, then half-turned to see who'd spoken. He froze when he recognized Johnny Weir, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and prurience.

Johnny was dressed casually, a stark contrast to the sharp suits from the catwalk. His jeans hung dangerously low on his hips; his t-shirt barely covered his belly. There was a strip of skin visible just below the hemline, and Stéphane reminded himself to stop staring at it and moved his eyes back up to the face, fighting down a surge of embarrassed lust.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. Stéphane remembered that he'd commented on Carolina taking off. "Ex-girlfriend," he corrected quickly, catching himself. "When she realized I was gay, she kicked my ass to the curb. She's found herself an Olympian gold medalist instead."

"Right." Johnny bared his teeth in a little smile. "Can't compete with that."

There was a jab about his own pretty damn great silver medal on the tip of his tongue, but Stéphane swallowed it and shrugged. "Any reason you're asking about Carolina?" He found himself hoping with pathetic desperation that he hadn't heard wrong about the sexual preferences of Johnny Weir.

"Not really. But now that I know her name, I feel like I should learn yours, too." The overhead lights reflected in Johnny's half-lidded eyes, making him look like a wildcat on the prowl.

"It's Stéphane."

"Ooooh. French?"

"Swiss."

"That's not that far from here. Do you live in the city?"

"I'm visiting Carolina, actually. But I'm supposed to go back home tomorrow afternoon." He'd skipped enough practices as it was, despite it being low season. He'd never been able to keep a disciplined ordinance while on the road, especially when it was supposed to be his vacation, but lately he had been itching for the ice.

Johnny Weir was smiling at him again, a toothy smile that only enhanced the impression that he was out here hunting. "We should make the most of the night as long as we can then, don't you think?" he asked.

Stéphane blinked, caught himself in mid-snort. "That's awfully bold of you."

The smile vanished. Johnny stepped closer, ignoring a few looks thrown their way. He was probably eighty pounds soaking wet, but he still managed to maneuver them to the wall at Stéphane's back without problem, pushing him up against it. One move later, he had a leg pressed between his thighs and was shoving their bodies together so that a sheet of paper would not have had room to fit between.

"Um," Stéphane heard himself say. It became very hard to think suddenly. Johnny smelled like sandal wood and rose, a little too feminine for it to be a male scent. It didn't matter a bit what sort of perfume it was, though; Stéphane still found his head spinning with just the idea of being this close to him, like he could lean forward an inch if he just dared to, press together their lips. Johnny's lips were wet and glistening from where he'd been biting them.

"Problem?" Johnny asked.

Stéphane watched his lips move and shook his head. "No problem."

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Here?"

"No?" Johnny's breath puffed out impatiently. "There are bedrooms upstairs. Or there's this marvelous new invention called a hotel. Always a good call when in need of a bed."

"You really shouldn't call the person you're trying to get in bed stupid. No matter how subtly," Stéphane suggested. His head was clearing now that Johnny had pulled back enough for him to catch some air into his lungs, breathe in slowly.

"I'm not really interested in your intellect," Johnny reminded him, cupping his dick through his pants. Stéphane jerked into his hand. "You see?"

Their eyes met. Then Stéphane, painful as it was, shoved at Johnny's chest and shook his head. "I just arrived. I'd have to tell Carolina where I'm going. And, uh, frankly - I don't think I've had enough alcohol yet to plunge head-first into a drunken hook-up?"

For a moment, he thought Johnny would rip his throat out, his eyes turned so dark with anger. But quick as that, the expression vanished again and he even took another step back, heavy-lidded and sultry, with a swing of his hips that made Stéphane's pants tighten. "That, I think," he said, "is one situational factor we can remedy immediately."

And as if he had eyes in the back of his head, he stuck out his arm, catching a drink off the tablet of a waiter who just passed by behind him.

 

Two hours, eight mojitos and one cab later, they fell into bed, scrambling to get rid of their clothes. The bed shook from the impact of Stéphane landing on his back.

Stéphane tried to catch his breath, willing the ceiling to stop moving. "This is a bad, bad decision," he said to nobody in particular. "In the history of bad decisions? This, and the invention of the chicken-cage. A- and. And killing the whales for. Shit. No, oh. For no particular reason."

"Oh god, don't tell me. I'm contaminating myself - ah - by giving a PETA-advocate a handjob." Johnny groaned, and there, yes, there, that was a hand on his erection. Johnny had pulled the zipper of his pants down to grab it. His fingers closed around Stéphane's dick, pulling it out. It felt amazing, the rub of the fabric vanishing, instead the sensation of Johnny's skin, his palm and fingers smooth from crèmes and manicures.

"That feels amazing," he managed. "Don't stop."

"I won't," Johnny breathed and straddled Stéphane's hips. He leaned down.

They shared an alcohol-and-cigarette-smoke kiss that had a slight tinge of lime and mint. Johnny's hand was, as promised, still on Stéphane's dick, his wrist moving in an even rhythm. Stéphane closed his eyes.

When he woke up the next morning, he couldn't remember falling asleep.

 

"Oh god, help me," Stéphane moaned into his cell phone once he managed to sort out most of last night's events. The bastard had stolen his credit card. "The bastard _stole my credit card_!"

"What?" Carolina was laughing at him.

She was dead. "You're _dead_ ," Stéphane told her.

"I'm not, come on, who's going to drive to the next Starbucks to get you coffee and share her aspirin with you?"

"Don't think this gets you off the hook."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Be ready in ten minutes, and I'll come pick you up at the main exit of your hotel. Are you packed yet? Where's your car?"

"Don't know. My other hotel?"

Carolina snorted. "All right. Hold on tight. Don't drown yourself in the shower." She hung up.

Stéphane wasn't packed yet. He'd also promised his mom he'd be there around noon, and it was past nine am. He knew he'd need at least four hours to get back home. Today officially sucked.

He put on his pants, the shirt and found the note when he picked up his wallet for the second time. It read:   
Falling asleep on me in the middle of sex? You so owe me. I'm thinking a pair of Roberto Cavalli Rhinestone Ankle Strap Sandals will make for a very good apology. Will return credit card once done. Thanks. See you hopefully never. JWe.

Stéphane crumbled it up and called his credit card company. By the time Carolina arrived to pick him up, he knew he was 500 Euros poorer.

"He bought shoes. [500-Euro-shoes.](http://z.about.com/d/shoes/1/0/X/X/roberto_cavalli.jpg) _Women's_ shoes. Which he will never wear!"

Carolina smirked. "Most expensive whore you'll ever have."

"Oh my god, _shut up_ ," Stéphane said, hitting her arm. Then he let his head fall forward onto his knees. "We didn't even have sex."

Yesterday around this time, he would never have expected to end the next 24 hour cycle cheated out of a night of thousand orgasms, half a grand poorer _and_ humiliated. He knew there had been a reason he hadn't wanted to go to that fashion show.

"This is all your fault," he told her.

Carolina petted his knee. "Let's get you coffee and a chocolate pastry. You'll see, everything'll be so much funnier once you're past the hang-over."

Which was probably true, but Stéphane chose not to tell her this. Instead, he asked, "Where did you go last night?"

Carolina smiled. "I slept at that house. Got out of there this morning around seven. No one else was up yet."

"Uh oh. Do I need to give Alex a call?" Stéphane asked, wiggling his eyebrows, which made his head hurt more than it was worth.

"Nope. But I had a lovely chat with Ben Agosto, and then I re-found Kimmie again and we talked for a while. I danced the rest of the night."

"Why can't that be my life?" Stéphane asked with a sigh.

"Because you're a moron?"

"Because I pick up all the wrong guys?"

"Or maybe because you're a moron," Carolina said, grinning.

 

~*~

 

 

For the next few weeks, Stéphane buried himself in work. There were several magazine reporters, sports newspaper interviewers and even some TV crews who wanted to talk to him about his success of the past two years, his career in general, his family life and most importantly his near future. He humored them. He told them that he wasn't ashamed of crying on the podium, how his parents were proud of him, how he was going to keep skating for a while, try to get a few more medals before he retired.

The truth was he wasn't too sure about that last one. He practiced every day on the ice for hours, kept to his diet as well as he could, did his off-ice training, went for a run every evening after dinner, but he still didn't have any idea about new music, no inspiration what his new programs could be about, and every time the question of new costumes and choreographies came up, he seemed to turn into an insufferable brat (or so Salomé told him).

After the fourth or fifth exchange that went the same way - with her proposing new ideas and introducing themes he might like, and him shooting them all down in a snippy and rude way - she finally threw her hands up.

"Call me when you're over your diva attitude," she told him curtly. "Until then, take a break. Go see some sharks."

"I hate sharks," Stéphane mumbled and started taking off his skates. She'd caught him after practice again. She always managed to drop in after a particularly disastrous practice in which he hadn't stood a single triple axel and the quads were all wobbly.

"Maybe she's right," his roommate Alex told him that evening when he got home from his run and plopped down on the couch, a bowl of ice cream in hand. "Maybe you need a vacation. Or a change. You've been doing the same thing over and over and over for years now."

"Hm," Stéphane said. "You might have a point."

 

Two days later, he came home and said, "I'm moving to the US."

Alex gave him a look. "When I said you needed a change, I was talking about getting a haircut. Not _leaving the continent_."

Stéphane hugged him tight. "You've been a good roommate. I'll keep paying my half of the rent for now, just in case I come back sooner than expected."

"When are you leaving?"

"Don't know yet. Sometime in the next few weeks?"

"You don't know yet?"

Stephane shrugged. "It's not something I've ever done before. I'm doing what you told me to do. I'm taking a break. I've always wanted to see what the acting schools in New York were like. I've got the Champions on Ice tour in July, so I can just stay in the city for a few weeks until I join the others."

"New York, huh?" Alex said. "Send me a postcard."

 

A week later, Stéphane bought plane tickets. He'd talked to his mom who'd been supportive and told him to do what would make him happy, to his grandma, who'd said it would do him good to get away from the sport for a while, especially if he was going to take a whole season off.

He'd talked to Peter, who'd been more understanding than he'd anticipated. Mostly, Salomé had heaved a sigh and said, "Finally. Skip a season or two. You deserve it. You can always come back, you know that."

He wasn't so sure, but he thought maybe life wasn't about being sure. And he wasn't going to skate in competitions forever, so he might as well enjoy his life and try to figure out what to do afterwards at the same time.

 

~*~

 

Once Johnny got back home from Milan, he spent a few days standing in front of the camera for the new DKNY Red Delicious ad. It was boring, but he was short on work with the economy as it was, and younger, fresher models usurping the ranks, so he'd taken the offer for what it was.

[He was more than surprised to see Tanith drop by on location](http://www.tanithandben.com/images/tanithphotoshoot/tanithshoot03_lg.jpg) to meet up with Donna. As far as he knew, they'd never worked together before. Tanith and him on the other hand had modeled together on several projects back in the day, he remembered with a wave of nostalgia. They had been best friends. These days, they hardly ever met anymore, though whenever they worked for the same designer, they tended to try and make each other's lives easier.

She walked over as soon as she spotted him.

"How's it going?" she asked while he was waiting for the fifteen-second take of his line. She was smiling. She also looked exhausted and jagged as she brushed off an imaginary particle of dust off his leather jacket. "This one's new, isn't it?"

"Part of the set," Johnny said. "And it's going okay. The shoot keeps getting prolonged, but they pay me, so I'm not complaining. They're stuck on the lights. And the wind machines are too heavy on - have a wild guess - _wind_. It's just not how Donna imagined it."

"Yeah, I saw her taking off to talk to the director." Tanith waved her hand in the general direction.

"Are you signed onto her new line?"

"I'm holding out hope. She has me following her around everywhere lately, so there's a chance she likes me well enough."

Johnny half-smiled. They never liked you well enough. It was either love or hate at first sight.

Tanith smiled back knowingly. "How about you?"

He shrugged. "Not much else to do this summer. I have a few editorials lined up, and I'm doing a few additional photo shoots. I don't think I'll be anyone's front cover, but I hear the cash's going to be okay. Mostly I'm looking forward to helping out Eleanor on the new season's designs. She's finally had time to look at my portfolio."

"You're still planning on getting in on that part of the business, huh?" Tanith flicked his forehead. "Good luck."

"Thanks. But I won't need it."

"Okay." Tanith gave him a look that was tinged with sadness. "We - we could maybe go for a coffee or something?"

"Do you want to bring your boyfriend?" Johnny asked sweetly.

"It's not -"

"Right. Totally not. The guys are getting ready to shoot another take. I gotta go. Good luck getting the contract. I'll see you around."

Tanith waved after him as Johnny turned and went back with the PA who handed him another apple and instructed him - once again - on where to stand and which facial muscle to move when. It wasn't like he didn't know, but he let her go over it again, and then the make-up guy shooed her away, and the camera crew started counting, and he was back on the job full-focus, ignoring the twinge inside that made him feel like maybe he shouldn't be so harsh to her all the time.

 

~*~

 

He could have probably made it into film. He still had a chance if he'd wanted it, which he didn't. Johnny'd never been one of those people who took the easy path in life, and giving up his wish to have his own clothing line was not an option.

He was good as a model. If he'd been female, he might have been a star. He made enough money now to lead a comfortable life; he was beautiful and he knew it, so getting people to fuck him wasn't hard either; he was sort-of famous in the right circles. He had everything he could have hoped for, and somehow, it wasn't enough.

Evan had always said what he needed was someone to love. Evan was a whore and full of shit. Johnny hadn't thought about him in two years. If he wanted to feel fulfilled these days, he went to see one of the kids at the Make-A-Wish Foundation whose wish was to become a model. There was never a shortage of them, and he even kept in contact with some of the ones who impressed him, even though he knew none of them really had a chance of making it anywhere, not with their situation being as it was.

He didn't have a lot to offer, but taking a little girl shopping was easy. And he liked seeing how her face lit up like an exploding sun just because he let her try on some Ralph Lauren polos that cost well over a hundred dollars and then took her for an ice cream and told her all about the glamorous life of the female supermodels he knew, which was what she wanted to hear.

He'd been able to arrange for a few tickets to fashion shows in the past year, which had been gratifying. He still got letters from Annabelle and Judy sometimes, and he always made sure to reply.

This Saturday, he spent his afternoon with a new kid, Lindsay, who had sickle cell anemia and desperately wanted to meet Giselle Bündchen. He wasn't Giselle, but he thought he came fairly close, considering. Lindsay seemed happy enough with him, in any case.

When he came home, Paris was hanging out on the couch, chewing on a corner of a chocolate bar, watching TV. Johnny ducked into his room and changed into more comfortable wear before going back out to sit down beside him, cuddling up under his arm.

"How was your day?" he asked with a yawn.

"Okay," Paris mumbled. After a minute, he added, "I think I got canned."

"Again?" Johnny closed his eyes.

"Hm-hm. No biggie. I'll go find another job tomorrow, don't worry."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

Paris pulled him up closer and kissed the top of his head. "I'm fine. Thanks, though. I'll let you know if I ever need to use your guest bedroom. It's good to know I have the option."

"I've always wanted a roommate, you know that," Johnny told him seriously.

"Liar." Paris snorted. "You hate the idea of a roommate. Not that I blame you, mind you. Living years in a single-bedroom with six other guys?"

"Filthy, possibly meth-addicted, possibly flea-and-lice-covered guys," Johnny added.

"Right. No roommates."

"You're right." Johnny sighed. "I hate roommates."

"How will you ever keep a boyfriend, I wonder?"

Johnny straightened his shoulders and managed to get Paris in the side with his elbow. "I'm not looking for anything like that, you know that. And now shut up, we're watching TV."

Paris snorted again, but he did fall silent, much to Johnny's gratification.

Later, when the show was over and the chocolate bar had vanished with a little piece ending in Johnny's stomach, he did turn to Johnny and said, "Your mom called. She's worried about you."

It always invoked a sting of guilt when he thought about his family, but Johnny refused to think about them for too long and so like always, he just shrugged it off this time as well. "I'm fine. I'll give her a call tomorrow or the day after. I have the calendar thing coming up? And Eleanor's assistant finally called to let me know that we'll be going over some designs this weekend. Did you know Eleanor kicked Laura out and got a new one? I think her name's Cindy. No, wait. Cynthia."

Paris smiled. "That's great. Tell her I said hi. If you meet Blair, tell her I said hi, too. We should meet for dinner. I think she liked dinner last time."

"That wasn't dinner," Johnny corrected. "That was a gluttonous food orgy. And it was in January. She's long forgotten you exist."

"I bet she hasn't forgotten _you_ exist," Paris told him in that familiar sing-song tone that he always used when he knew someone had a thing for Johnny.

"Don't be ridiculous," Johnny said and got up off the couch. "I'm going to bed. Are you staying on the couch or going home?"

"I have to get out early tomorrow. My bed is my own. Sleep well."

"Lock the door behind you," Johnny warned him.

He had trouble falling asleep that night, like almost always. It was better after he took a pill. Eight hours of undisturbed sleep and then at least he'd show up at the agency tomorrow without heavy bags under his eyes.

 

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

 

Eleanor Waldorf approved of his ideas. That was the good part. The bad part was that she thought they were too edgy, too far-fetched and too theatrical.

"It's original enough," she said, "especially with your idea of getting some of the late sixteenth century influences in there. I like how you implemented the ruffs without them getting too pronounced. Help me out with the materials, I can't read your scribbles here on the side -"

"That one's taffeta," Johnny pointed. "I saw it in an Indian fabric shop I visited a while ago, and I thought it might fit -"

"Right. Very expensive, though. Not something that's used a lot, and like you said, Indian import. This part of your sketch is very detailed, very good. I love the mix of the old-Spanish coloring with the modernism of the shapes you used, hard edges, smart-casual feel."

Johnny brightened. "Really? This guy I hooked up with had a bit of a Spanish ancestry thing going on; I really liked his style, so -"

Eleanor pursed her lips. "It's good. It's just not applicable to the fashion market right now. Maybe in a few years. We're in the middle of a 30s and 50s revival. I don't think even Hollywood has much use for this, and you know how they are about originality on their red carpets."

"But it's not even that new a trend! Look what goth has done for the fashion scene in the past fifteen years; it's almost completely lifted from mid-fifteenth century east and middle-European fashion with a few modern influences stemming from the sexual revolution -"

Eleanor gave him a look, silencing him in mid-sentence. "You know your history. It's still not going to take off. Not the way you want it to. Try your hand with something cute first, go for a mini-skirt-and-leggins retro look, play with colors. Don't go too far overboard."

Johnny snapped his folder shut, pressing his lips together. "I'm not overboard with this. And cute is for people who have no ideas on their own. I don't want to be cute. I want to be unique."

"Give me a unique perspective on denim jeans. Shelve this." Eleanor gave him a hard look. "Maybe its time will come. That time is not now."

"Fine." Johnny narrowed his eyes in response. "Are we done?"

"No. You want to work here, you want me to look at your ideas like you're a professional? You do it like all the kids do it. Rebecca received a call about a special order, and you know how much I love those. Viktor is a good friend of mine however, so make sure you take good care of his order. Ask Rebecca about instructions, and then go off to measure whoever it is that needs this costume."

He felt like snapping back that he was busy at a photo shoot and that his agency had scheduled another calendar piece for him after that, but the first was untrue and the second a lie. It was a one-day shoot, and it was on Wednesday. There was no calendar piece. He was free until next week, save for two socialite parties he'd been invited to. Those didn't coincide with Eleanor's work hours.

"Fine," he said.

"There's a good boy." Eleanor led him out of her office and into the bigger floor-room where people were bustling around, working or discussing.

Her personal assistant stepped up to them at once. "Mrs. Waldorf, Ramon has called about a fitting and Mr. Huggens left a message about a financial meeting that was supposed to take place tomorrow evening but needs to be rescheduled. RGH has sent a fax -"

"No. There's nothing important enough that it cannot wait until tomorrow." Eleanor cleared her throat and looked around the room. "Listen up, people. Don't call me for the rest of the day. Anyone who bothers me with inconsequential details that can be solved without me will be jobless and on the streets by tomorrow. I'll be at home with Blair, we're in desperate need of some mother-daughter time. So unless the building's on fire, my cell phone will stay silent." With that said she grabbed her coat and her purse and headed for the elevator.

Johnny watched her go and glanced at his watch. It was barely noon. He had a feeling the company's financial status wasn't the only thing in trouble. He liked Blair. He hoped she was okay.

"Do you need help finding your way out?" Cynthia offered.

"Shouldn't I ask you that?" he snapped, on edge.

When she flushed, he gave her a scathing look and turned to look for Rebecca. Better get that new project over with as soon as he could. The faster he did, the faster he could get back to mind-building his own imperium of fashion. He even had a layout for his brand in his mind's eye. It just needed a little tweaking.

 

~*~

 

Viktor Petrenko was a figure skater. When Johnny called him up to arrange a time for them to meet and go over some preliminary paperwork, this was the first thing he learned.

"You've worked with figure skaters before, right?" Viktor asked.

"Sure," Johnny lied easily. He could always look up the details later and learn what he needed to know before they got together.

"Good. Great, well, this afternoon would be a good time. I'm flying out to Japan early tomorrow, I have a show. I should be back in about a week, so I'd like you to work on some ideas while I'm away."

"Today?" Johnny repeated, just to be sure he'd heard right.

"Four pm? You should have my information; I faxed it all to Eleanor's. You should come by my house, my daughter made the most delicious cherry pie, and we can talk about what I'm imagining while you have a bite."

"But -"

"That's settled then. I'll see you soon!"

There was a click, the phone signal loud in Johnny's ear. He stared at it for half a minute before scrambling into motion. "Rebecca!" he yelled while setting up his laptop, willing it to work. She popped up just as the screen flashed the welcome.

"Yes?"

"Get Cynthia, Michael and - do you know who's been working on figure skating costumes?"

"What stage? If you mean development, Eleanor mostly does that herself. I guess I could find Hannah, I think she did the sewing last time for some kids. She's just an intern, though."

"Get her. Tell Cynthia to look up everyone who's worked on skating costumes within Waldorf Designs and get me their numbers. Tell Michael to start researching cuts and recent prototypes and colors and get me pictures of any and all big designer creations of the past, say, three years?"

"All right," Rebecca said. "I'll see what I can do."

Johnny turned back to his laptop and started up the internet. He had four hours.

 

~*~  


  
[Regina Spektor - Us](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

When Stéphane answered the front door of Victor's house after the door bell rang the last person he expected to see was Johnny Weir.

"Huh," Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Did I get the wrong house?"

"Viktor?" Stéphane yelled.

"Yes?" Viktor yelled back. Victoria squealed in the background, and the shower noise stopped.

"Johnny Weir's here to see you."

There was a pause. Stéphane and Johnny stared at each other. Then Viktor emerged from the bathroom, his shirt wet to his elbows, half of it splattered with chocolate. "Really?" he asked.

"I'm not here for - I'm with Waldorf Designs," Johnny told them, glancing over to Viktor. "We spoke on the phone."

"Oh. Oh! You - come in! Thank you for being able to do this on short-notice."

Stéphane blinked and stepped back from the door, heading for the bathroom where Viktor had apparently abandoned Victoria to get cleaned up on her own. He'd brought chocolate when he'd arrived a few days ago. She'd made a cherry pie - helped Stéphane making it - and insisted it needed a thick chocolate icing.

"You need any help with that?" he asked her, watching her scrub the chocolate off her arms.

"I'm good." Her grin was huge. "It's my birthday soon."

"In a month."

"That's soon! We'll make another cake then, right? A bigger one!"

Stéphane smiled and pulled her pigtail. "Sure we will. I'll make my mom send more chocolate."

"Awesome!" Victoria made as if to tackle him into a hug, but Stéphane quickly held out his hands. "No hugs until the chocolate's all off. Come here, let me help with your face, there's chocolate _everywhere_."

What felt like two hours later, they returned to the kitchen where Viktor and Johnny were sitting at the table Stéphane'd cleaned when they'd finished the cake. There were slides and plans and design sheets lying around, and the two of them were in deep conference.

"Daddy, Stéphane says I'll get a bigger cake than this for my birthday!" Victoria cheered and, without inhibitions about interrupting, she ran to get on Viktor's lap, climbing up with practiced ease. "You should try a piece," she told Johnny somberly. "It's just a test cake, but Stéphane helped, so it's gonna be very good."

"Thanks," Johnny told her with a tiny smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

Stéphane forced himself to tear his gaze off the smile and his eyes landed on one of the outlines. "Hey," he said, stunned. "Are those figure skating costumes?"

"Yeah," Johnny replied. Viktor nodded. "Waldorf Designs has worked with some elite skaters before, mostly cooperative development; we don't specialize in it or anything. We've done some simple style production, but those were singular cases."

He was all professionalism, not bleeding an ounce of feeling about meeting Stéphane here. Stéphane tried to shrug off the weight that settled in his stomach and said, "You're doing Viktor's new costume?"

"No," Viktor said, "this is for one of the children at the club. I have a junior competitor, she's going up to seniors next season and she's envisioned a costume that I think will work nicely with her music. Eleanor sometimes works up some ideas for me as a favor, since I bring in some of her better-paying clientele from the skating scene."

"That's nice," Stéphane said, and went around the table to get to the cake. He suddenly didn't feel like staying, like watching Johnny interact with people he knew and liked. "Hey, Victoria," he said instead. "How about we get some cake and go into the garden to play, leave these two to their work?" Johnny, when he glanced back, was not even looking at him, like they'd never met before.

This was the guy who'd spent half a grand of Stéphane's money on shoes, never mind had his hand on his dick. Stéphane figured he deserved a little more than this sort of greeting; but then again, Johnny had explicitly told him he never wanted to see him again.

Victoria, fortunately, was down with his plan. She left Viktor's lap after giving him another hug and helped Stéphane with the plates.

 

Later, of course, it turned out that it was not nearly as easy to escape further interaction with Johnny as he'd anticipated. Viktor invited Johnny to stay for dinner. The weather was nice and they'd planned to barbecue.

Neither of them knew the first thing about barbecue, so they ended up sitting in the grass by the house, shielded from the sun by the house's shadow, enshrouded in uneasy silence.

  
____spacer____

When Johnny once more changed his seating position, the bored expression on his face finally made Stéphane break the silence. "Is this what you do when you're not modeling?" he asked.

"Yes," Johnny said.

"Makes sense, I guess."

Johnny looked up at that. "What?"

"No, just, that a model would want to make a career as a fashion designer." Stéphane met his eyes. "I hear looks fade."

Johnny snorted. "I will fight to the death to be pretty."

"Who said that?"

"What?"

"That sounded like a quote," Stéphane said. "Who said that?"

Johnny smirked. "Me."

Stéphane felt himself flush. "Did you ever wear the boots?" he blurted in an attempt to change the topic. He realized a second too late where that question might lead. By that time, Johnny was already bent over laughing. "Stop it!" he tried, pulling out a weed with his fingers, throwing it at Johnny's laughter-reddened face. "It was a perfectly innocent question!"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Johnny replied when he was calmed down enough to speak, picking the weed off his shirt.

"Really?" Stéphane felt his eyebrows climb up.

"Yep." The smirk was back on Johnny's face. "My roommate loved the look."

"Roommate." Stéphane didn't know whether Johnny was making fun of him or trying to be coy. He looked around, but Victoria and Viktor were still out of earshot. "You mean the guy who shares your living space whom you occasionally fuck but are too emotionally frigid to actually call your boyfriend?"

Johnny's mouth dropped open, shocked. For a second, Stéphane thought he'd get the bitching he probably deserved for that. But then Johnny just threw his head back, exposing his throat as laughter broke free again.

"No," he grinned. "Is that what roommate means in Swiss?"

"It's either German or French," Stéphane told him with a huff. "There's no actual Swiss language."

"You're a freak," Johnny said. "I'm so glad I told you not to call me."

"You're a jerk," Stéphane snapped. "I'm glad it never even crossed my mind."

When Johnny hopped up to his feet, Stéphane felt a flash of guilt, fearing that he'd gone too far and actually hurt him, but then Johnny shielded the sun from his face and Stéphane saw he was rolling his eyes, and he didn't feel bad anymore at all.

 

~*~  


  
[The Who - Won't Get Fooled Again](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

The thing was, Johnny was perfectly nice to the Petrenkos. He answered Viktor's questions sweetly and with a half-smile on his face that was completely different from the smirk he gave Stéphane whenever Stéphane spoke. He helped Nina prepare the dishes for the food, and even though he only ate a little bit, he complimented on the choice of the steak and how well it was done. It was when he helped Victoria onto his lap to share forkfuls of his tomato salad that Stéphane got suspicious of his niceness.

And yet, almost all he could think about was that those hands, good grip on little Victoria's waist, had been on his dick. That mouth, whispering things into Victoria's ear to make her giggle had been on his neck, caressing, hot and wet, leaving a trail of desire. He didn't think that was a great train of thought at the table with people whose hospitality he was enjoying.

"So, Stéphane," Nina asked when he put down his fork to take a sip of water. "Have you told Johnny what you're doing in New York?"

"No," he murmured, glancing at Johnny, who was still busy feeding Victoria as if she was way younger than her eight years.

"Maybe he could help you out with a costume for next season?"

"What? Oh, no, I'm not actually - I don't actually know yet if I'm even competing next season. I might follow Sasha's example and give it a rest for a season or two."

Johnny's chin rocked up. "You're a figure skater?"

"Sure he is," Nina replied. "Didn't you watch the -"

"It's no big deal, honestly," Stéphane interrupted.

"No, no. Come on, tell me." Johnny let go of Victoria's hips when she started to wriggle, bored now that he wasn't paying attention to her. She jumped off and returned to her own chair. Johnny didn't take his eyes off Stéphane. "I want to know."

"I want cookies," Victoria said.

"Later, honey," Viktor said, giving her a reproachful smile. "Are you going to leave the rest of your dinner, now that you've eaten all of Johnny's food?"

Johnny shrugged. "I can't eat all that much anyway," he reassured him. Then he turned back to Stéphane. "So what should I have watched?"

When Stéphane looked away, unsure what to say, Viktor told Johnny, "He won silver at the Olympics last season. Two time world champion, too." He gave Stéphane another smile. "Making a costume for you would certainly help Johnny with his ambition."

"That's all right," Johnny said. "I'm glad to help out, but, uh, figure skating costumes… it's not really where I want to end up."

"Where do you want to end up?" Nina asked.

"Women's high fashion. I won't be able to model forever, and I already have some proposals I've made. Nothing's worked out yet, though. For now, I mostly get stuck with the little projects in my free time."

"You're still young," Nina told him. "From what I saw of your ideas upstairs, you have talent, and you certainly seem determined."

"Thank you."

Stéphane felt a flash of discomfort when he saw Johnny duck his head, pleased at the praise. It felt private, and like maybe Johnny didn't get this sort of praise often, which Stéphane knew was ridiculous. He was a popular model, he had to be getting praise constantly about how good he looked, how beautiful and talented he was.

He finished off the last bit of steak on his plate and put down his fork, listening to the conversation burbling around him. Thankfully, it only took about half an hour longer before Johnny said he had to get going, that he had another appointment for the evening.

"I should head out as well," Stéphane agreed. He'd found an apartment closer to New York City, not too far away from the Petrenkos, just days after he'd arrived in the US. He wasn't yet sure what he'd do this evening, maybe bake some cookies, but he knew staying any longer would be impolite. They had far too little family time as it was, and Viktor was heading out again tomorrow morning for his Japan show.

"Let me give you a ride," Nina offered. "It's over a mile, and you shouldn't walk around outside that late."

"It's going on eight pm, that's not exactly the time for hardened criminals to befall innocent pedestrians," Stéphane replied, waving her off.

"Better not to take the chance. You can never be too careful," Viktor agreed with his wife.

"Yes, Stéphane," Johnny smirked. "You should be careful of your virtue."

Stéphane gave him a scathing look. "Are you offering to look after it for me?"

"Considering how last time ended? I think not."

Nina was giving them curious looks, watching their conversation like a tennis match. "What happened last time? I didn't know you'd met before."

"Briefly," Stéphane said. "I don't think either of us was having much fun at the time. One of those boring fashion shows, you know?"

"Right. Johnny, do you have a ride home, or do you want me to drop you off somewhere, too?"

"I'm fine, I parked the car out front. Don't worry, though, I'll take Stéphane home."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Not that it would be any trouble otherwise, but. Thanks for the offer."

Stéphane caught Johnny's gaze. Johnny cocked his head. "What?"

"Nothing," Stéphane said. "Thanks, I guess."

"All right," Viktor said. "Let me fetch the plans we worked out. I'll be in touch over the phone in the next week about the final version of the costume. I hope I can leave it safely in your hands to be done in time?"

"Yes," Johnny assured him. "I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

 

~*~

 

The car ride, predictably, was deeply uncomfortable. Stéphane stared out onto the road through the window while Johnny remained concentrated on driving. The silence in the car was heavy. When Stéphane glanced over at Johnny out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Johnny was gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white.

"Do you live far from here?" he asked. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, rougher than usual.

"Why?" Johnny asked, taking a turn. "Do you want to drop in for a visit?"

"I just wondered."

"No. I live in the city."

"Right." Stéphane rolled his eyes at himself. He'd forgotten Johnny could afford an apartment in the city center. "You came all the way out here just for a skating costume that you don't even get paid for?"

Johnny's expression, icily smooth until then, transformed into a sneer. "I do my job. I don't see how any of the rest is your business."

"I wasn't trying to imply anything!"

"Good."

"Fine." Stéphane huffed. "Suit yourself. I'll just keep silent."

"Good," Johnny repeated. "You're most likeable when your mouth's too full to speak."

Stéphane glared. Johnny met the glare head-on, challenge in his eyes. He was just waiting to get Stéphane's hackles up. Stéphane didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction. He stayed silent until Johnny gestured at the street.

"Tell me where to turn next. I don't know the way to your place."

"Next right," Stéphane murmured, and a minute later, "and another turn right after the lights."

When Johnny pulled up in front of his apartment building and parked the car, Stéphane had to bite his lip hard to keep himself from asking why he was acting like such an asshole at one time, but then doing stuff like this at another, taking him home, meeting up with Viktor and accepting invitations to barbecues. Instead, he said, "Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it," as politely as he could and opened the passenger door.

What he didn't expect was for Johnny to kill the engine and get out along with him. There was a calculating look in his eyes when he approached Stéphane. Stéphane threw the door shut, and Johnny locked down. He was two steps away, and his face was determined, his eyes curious.

"What?" Stéphane asked. "What are you doing?"

"I was thinking," Johnny said slowly. "We never got to finish what we started last time."

"What?"

There was the smirk again. "I'll make it simple for you. We're both sober this time, and it's early in the evening. Do you want to have sex?"

Stéphane's mind conjured up images of Johnny beneath him, fingers running over planes of sweaty skin, rocking into him. He reigned himself in, shaking his head.

"Is that a no?" Johnny seemed not to care either way. He just stood there, hips cocked to the side, playing with his car keys.

Stéphane bit his lip. "That depends," he finally said. "Are you going to steal my credit card again and buy shoes more expensive than my rent?"

Johnny barked out a laugh. "I'm not promising anything. But I think I've had my share of shoes from you, yeah." He pushed closer; their bodies were pressed together from thighs to chests. Johnny's hips snapped forward, hot and demanding, his mouth at Stéphane's pulse point. "Is that a yes?"

Stéphane closed his eyes, and told himself that getting fooled twice was definitely on him. Then he put his hands on Johnny's waist and drew him in, pressing their lips together. It wasn't like he was a stranger to a bruised ego. He could probably take it.

 

~*~  


  
[Can You Feel The Love Tonight (lion King)](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Johnny wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not by the fact that Stéphane was a good fuck when sober. Then again, he didn't think he'd had sober sex for at least a year. He didn't have much to compare it to.

Fact was, what Johnny was used to was people claiming, demanding and taking what they wanted. He was used to people spreading him out on the bed, climbing on top to open him up and fuck him till he felt like he was going to burst, until all his muscles were tight and screaming.

He'd recognized the romantic in Stéphane when he'd spoken to him at the after-show party, but he hadn't actually expected to end up getting head, with fingers up his ass, carefully working him into frenzy. That… was rather unusual for a simple hook-up.

Stéphane didn't care about unusual. He sucked harder when Johnny let himself moan, encouraged by the sound. Johnny rocked his hips like he was trying to climb into his mouth, making him take his cock deeper. He wanted more, needed more, and Stéphane complied, slipping a third finger into his hole alongside the other two, squeezing the base of Johnny's dick, hitting just the right spot inside him that made him wrench his eyes shut as his orgasm hit.

He rode it out slowly. Then he fell back onto the mattress with lax limbs, exhausted, and whined when he felt Stéphane pull his fingers out of his ass. He could see through half-lidded eyes that Stéphane was very hard, worked up enough to breathe heavily, but he really didn't feel like moving to help out with it, apart from spreading his legs wider.

"You can fuck me if you want," he offered in a mumble. The lassitude wasn't dwindling. Stéphane's hand travelled up his side, thumb flicking over his nipple, making him gasp.

"Or I could just jerk off all over your face," Stéphane said, staring until Johnny turned and raised his eyebrows in disbelief. That made Stéphane crack up. "Your face!" he laughed.

"Which you're not getting jizz on," Johnny commented languidly. "Fuck off."

"So I can shove my dick up your ass, but I can't come on your face?"

"Tick-tock," Johnny told him. "The longer you wait to actually do it, the stronger my need to get out of here gets."

"You sure you're up for it?"

Johnny smirked. "I'm always up for it. You got the lube?"

"Condoms, too," Stéphane said, fumbling to get one out of the package and put it on. "Fuck. Not a good idea with slick fingers," he cursed.

Johnny lay back and closed his eyes, rubbing a circle over his stomach. His cock was showing a touch of interest again at the prospect, but it was too soon to get hard again. And he was hungry. He'd just had dinner an hour ago. It had to be the sex. He was always starving after sex.

"You sure this is okay?" Stéphane asked directly by his ear, startling him into opening his eyes. He didn't sound like he was teasing anymore. He sounded concerned. "You don't really seem into it. I can jerk off, it's fine."

Johnny glanced at him. "I'm gonna get into it. If you think you can last longer than a minute, that is."

Stéphane glared.

"What?" Johnny smiled. "It's true. If you don't, it'll be over quick at least. If you do, make it good and we'll both enjoy ourselves. I don't see where the problem is."

"Fine," Stéphane said. "I was being courteous, but if you don't mind, I'll just stick it in, whatever, right?"

"Yup. That's the plan."

This part was never especially sexy, at least not at first. They hadn't gotten around to it the last time, which was, so Johnny told himself, basically the only reason they were doing it now. It took a while for Stéphane to get positioned, to find a way both their bodies could fit without their elbows and knees meshing too hard, knocking together in all the pointy places. Then there was pressure, a painful push inside as Stéphane held steady, slowly guiding himself into his body until he was sheathed, face tight with concentration, trying hard to keep his hips under control.

But it definitely wasn't bad. Stéphane wasn't too big, which helped, big enough so Johnny felt the stretch, his body adjusting to the ever-new sensation. He'd had worse. Some people were idiots about this. He tightened his muscles around Stéphane's dick and thought about how at least Stéphane knew his basics. Not a total waste of time then. And he gave good head. Really good head. That counted for something. And while this wasn't yet feeling great, it was bearable, and there was a tingle in his stomach that promised it could get really good if they both put some work into it.

"You can move, you know," he said when Stéphane still hadn't moved after a good minute. Instead of sharp and snappy, it came out in a puff, like a gasping last breath. He was panting and hadn't even realized, his chest heaving as he sucked in breath. He also had his eyes closed. He tore them open, focusing, and found that Stéphane was right above him, their faces inches apart, staring into his face like he was looking for something.

He had dark brown eyes, dark lashes, and there was a sprinkle of freckles on his nose that nobody who hadn't been this close was probably aware of. Johnny felt himself shiver at the strange sensation that settled in his abdomen that had nothing at all to do with the fact that Stéphane had just found his prostate while rocking carefully into him.

"Move, fuck," he hissed, turning his face away, and this time, it came out sharp enough. It was unsettling to be watched like that, the intimacy of locking eyes from this close up.

"I'm moving," Stéphane mouthed. His hands, slick still from the lube, had settled on Johnny's waist and were stroking him as if he needed reassurance, like he was skittish or shy. It made him feel strange and caged and he was glad when the touch vanished until he realized that Stéphane had merely moved his right hand up to his face to keep him in place while he leaned in to kiss.

Their lips were chapped, which made the kiss awkward until Stéphane slipped out his tongue, licking along Johnny's bottom lip in sync with his hips snapping forward. The drag was amazing, the feeling of skin stretched, the sensation of clenching his muscles around Stéphane, feeling every tiny motion he made. Then Stéphane slid his tongue between his lips, into his mouth, finding his tongue, curling around it, and Johnny realized he was hard again, groaning into the kiss.

He closed his legs high around Stéphane's waist, rocking up his hips into the thrusts, forward on every down-thrust, taking him as deep as he could go, forcing Stéphane's dick to enter into him at an angle that made jolts run up his spine at every move. Stéphane voiced his approval by fucking him harder, by chasing his tongue sloppily, breathing harshly every time they broke apart. He was sweaty under Johnny's fingers when he ran them down Stéphane's back, searching for grip so he could return the press, keep up with it, counter it to make it even better.

Johnny wasn't sure how long they kept it up, fighting for control, how far into it Stéphane gave up fucking his mouth as well as his ass and let him lead the kiss, let him reciprocate; he couldn't tell if it had been five or fifteen minutes, or half an hour. He knew he was close to a second orgasm though, and that Stéphane had to be gagging for it by now, had to be seconds away from exploding with need, so all he could say was, "Come on, please," and, "Wanna feel you come," and "fuck," a few times before he felt Stéphane shudder in his arms, hips stuttering in their rhythm.

He closed his hand around his own dick and jerked, twice, three times, gasping into the air because Stéphane'd bitten his neck just before he'd started to come, and there was no one to kiss anymore. His neck thrown back, he felt it rattle through him, felt his body lock up once more.

There was come over both their stomachs when Stéphane pulled out and fell beside him with a groan. He sounded exhausted.

"Out of shape, huh?" Johnny couldn't help but needle, even though it came out weak, his voice broken raw.

Stéphane snorted. He didn't answer. His arm was pressed to Johnny's, and he turned his head to kiss Johnny's shoulder before he curled up.

For a second, Johnny contemplated if he was tired enough to follow Stéphane's example and fall asleep. In the next, his body had already decided for him.

 

~*~

 

When Johnny woke up, he felt sluggish and slow. The first thing he did was to glance at his watch to check how long he'd been out. It was just past one am.

It wasn't like he had anyone to report to about staying out late, but he liked to tell himself he was more reliable than this. Paris had been planning to come over to watch TV tonight. He was probably worried.

Johnny was pulling on his jeans when he heard the sheets rustle on the bed behind him. Stéphane's breathing rhythm changed, was replaced by a little cough and a few quick consecutive swallows. Johnny tried to hurry, buttoned up, and managed to pull on his t-shirt by the time Stéphane was getting up onto his elbows, blinking to adjust his eyes to the lack of light.

"What time is it?" was the first thing out of his mouth.

Johnny felt annoyance rise in his throat. He was supposed to sleep through this. It would have been so much easier to leave a note again. Or leave no note. No note would have brought across the message perfectly.

"Just past one," he murmured. "Go back to sleep."

"You leaving?" Stéphane asked, rubbing his face.

Johnny rolled his eyes, even though Stéphane couldn't see it.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"Why?"

Johnny straightened up, looking around for his car keys. He vaguely remembered putting them on the kitchen counter. He hadn't taken anything else inside.

"What?" he asked, disinterested.

Stéphane'd sat up fully now and was looking at him in disbelief.

" _What_?" Johnny repeated, growing more defensive. He didn't want to do this right now. It was late.

Stéphane had apparently thrown off all the sleepiness that had still clung to him seconds ago. His lips were pressed together to a white line before he parted them to moisten them and asked, "Why did you ask to come inside if you can't stand to stay in a room with me long enough to have breakfast and a decent conversation?"

Johnny snorted. Breakfast. Yeah, sure.

"Maybe I've just always wanted to bang an Olympic medalist," he said, grabbed his jacket before Stéphane could answer and left the room, shaking his head at the drama of it all.

The keys were sitting where he'd left them. He took them, let the door fall shut as he left Stéphane's apartment, and if he felt a churn in his stomach that was completely different from the sensation he'd felt there a few hours before, with Stéphane's dick filling him up as their eyes met, he told himself it wasn't like he had anything to feel bad about. They'd both known what they were getting, going into this.

He put the music on loud while he drove his car back to his own place, just to keep his thoughts occupied. Singing along to the lyrics always helped with that.

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

 

Paris hadn't been there when he'd arrived the night before. That, unfortunately, didn't excuse Johnny from the interrogation the morning after, despite an important appointment to his hairdresser-slash-stylist and a date to go shopping with a friend. He'd forgotten all about that the day before. Paris, Johnny noticed when he stumbled out of the shower, had set the table and mixed the yogurt with his favorite berries for him.

"Coffee?" Johnny asked, making grabby hands.

Paris pointed behind himself to the counter. "There's a whole pot. I thought you were working with Eleanor yesterday?"

"I was," Johnny said. He filled a cup to the brim and burned his tongue on the first sip. "Shit."

"Didn't I tell you not to be greedy? And since when does Eleanor keep you past midnight?"

"Are you my best friend or my nanny?" Johnny picked the cup up, more careful this time, and went back to his seat.

Paris stared into his face like he was gauging something specific. Then he put down the magazine he'd been pretending to read and said, with a hint of reproach amid a ton of amusement, "You totally got laid. _At work_?"

"No!" Johnny scowled. "Like I'd jeopardize my career for a quick fuck."

"Hm." Paris picked up his bagel and took a bite. "Did you go clubbing without me?"

"Find a new job yet?"

Paris made a face.

"Then you have no money to spend on expensive drinks."

"Don't think you're getting out of here without telling me what you were up to last night," Paris warned him. "I drove all the way; I'm not leaving without the juicy details."

"I've got stuff," Johnny reminded him, pointing at his wrist. "Sasha promised to introduce me to a few people while we shop for ideas on Amsterdam. There's a great vintage store she discovered that opened a few weeks ago. You know how Roman hates it when I'm late."

"You told me. That's after lunch. It's barely past eleven. And I saw the time for your hair appointment, and that's in the evening, so don't lie."

Johnny spooned up his yogurt and glared. "Don't you have places to be?"

"All right, you're trying to get rid of me. This has to be serious." Paris leaned forward, watching him curiously. "Who was it?"

"No one important."

"Was it someone famous who made you promise you'd never breathe a word of your romantic midnight rendez-vous? Was it Jake Gyllenhaal? I knew that fucker was gay, I knew it!"

"It wasn't Jake Gyllenhaal, Jesus." Johnny poked his spoon at him. "It wasn't anyone famous." Then he reconsidered. "Not too famous, I guess."

"A-ha! So it was someone famous! Do I know them? It wasn't one of those sleazy reality TV starlets, was it?"

"Actually, you might know him, I guess." Johnny frowned. "You watch figure skating sometimes, right?"

"Sure," Paris shrugged. "When there's nothing better on. Some of the guys are hot." Then he grimaced. "Some are jailbait, though. It takes a bit of research to figure out which ones you can perv on without risking prison."

Johnny opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Uhm," he then said. "Stéphane Lambiel's not underage, right?" It hadn't even occurred to him to _ask_ , fuck.

"What?" Paris' eyes were huge. "Seriously? Oh. My. God. That's hilarious, did you - he's not even out, I mean, not that any of them are, but man. Lambiel? Really? He won silver -"

"- at the Olympics this year, yes, I know." Johnny rolled his eyes.

"It's impressive!"

"It gets boring after the second time you hear it."

"You like him!"

Johnny felt his face heat up and shook his head. "He's naive, considers himself oh so romantic and he is totally not my type. Anyway, all we ever do is trade insults, so..."

"All you _ever_ do. Johnny!" Paris was holding back laughter so desperately his hands were shaking from it. Johnny knew all the signs, and he tried to say something, but Paris just went on, "You've met him before? You've actually talked to the guy prior to fucking him? That's _hilarious_ , let me call Perez Hilton, this needs to go on his blog!"

"Fuck off," Johnny said with a scowl.

Paris let out a cackle. "Are you in looove yet? Are you going to ask him to marry you? Are you going to move to Canada to make babies on rugs in front of roaring fireplaces?"

"Oh my god, fuck _off_ ," Johnny said, standing up, taking his half-eaten yogurt to throw it in the trash. "I'm getting out of here. Going for real breakfast. Feel free to let yourself out."

"Don't be like that!" Paris called after him. "You're just mad because his passionate love-makin' skills aren't quite up to your standard of perfection -"

"Shut up," Johnny interrupted him, headed towards his room to change into more street-appropriate clothing. "He's actually quite good in bed."

Paris howled, throwing his head back in laughter.

"God," Johnny spat, closing the door to his room to block him out. "I need a new best friend."

 

~*~

 

Acting school was not working out the way Stéphane had imagined. Two weeks into his visit to the US, he'd sat in on some classes, talked to various professors and students, and gotten a good picture of what it was all about.

He'd liked the _idea_ of becoming an actor. He'd loved the idea of playing a role, standing on a stage, becoming another person, flooding his audience with emotions.

He realized now that he didn't like the realities of the profession. He didn't like having a script he had to keep close to, lines on the floor telling him where he was supposed to stand. There were people in charge of directing, people who had their own ideas about the characters and their lives, their expressions and emotions, ideas that Stéphane didn't share, because he had his own design about them in his head.

He stopped what he was doing when he realized what was happening. It didn't feel right. After figure skating, the next best thing had to _fit_. He wanted something he could spend the rest of his life being happy doing.

The afternoon a few days after his night with Johnny, Stéphane went back to the rink for the first time in weeks. He told himself he only had a few weeks until Champions on Ice started, and he had to get back in shape for his figure skating audience. It was as good an excuse as any to go and practice until he could hardly stand upright.

That evening, he returned to his apartment pleasantly exhausted, hurting from missed triple axels. He made himself pasta and snacked on it in front of the TV, flipping channels until he found one that kept announcing at the bottom of the screen that it was going to show small European film productions all night long.

Three movies in, he was close to falling asleep, when a melody started up, a tune that caught his ear immediately, a strangely poetic succession of notes that was passionate and romantic in one, quiet in places, fast enough to fit step sequences in others, guitar strings flying as the cinematic climax on the screen unfolded.

The internet was his friend. He found out the name of the movie; then he found that [the music was by Luis Milan](http://magnatune.com/artists/albums/martin-luismilan/), which was a name that sounded familiar. He downloaded the music online, listened to it a few more times, just to check if he would get sick of it. He didn't. Then he got out his phone.

A sleepy voice answered with a mumbled, "Yes?"

"Viktor?" Stéphane asked.

"Stéphane? What - is everything all right?"

"Yes, yeah, everything's fine."

There was a pause. Then Viktor gave a yawn. "Why are you calling me at... four thirty in the morning?"

"Oh. Sorry. Hey, are you in Europe right now?"

"... yes?"

"Oh. This is going to cost me a lot of money, isn't it?"

"... yes? Stéphane, what -?"

"I have a new program. I mean. The music. The ideas. The interpretation. Pieces of choreography in my head. I just needed to tell someone."

"And you called me?" Viktor sounded incredulous.

"And I needed advice!" Stéphane said. It wasn't like he was short of friends he could call in the middle of the night. At least in Europe, he wasn't. Here, he was rather... disconnected still.

Viktor's patience was wearing thin. "What?"

"Where do I go for a costume and someone to help me with choreography?"

 

~*~

 

The meeting was so boring that Johnny was close to shooting himself in the foot to get out of it. Or he would have, if he'd owned a gun. He didn't. He did own a cell phone though that he hadn't turned off, waiting for just the opportunity to make it ring. He didn't even flinch when it went off and everyone turned to glare at him.

"Sorry," he mouthed and got up in a hurry, waving at them to continue. He wasn't sure what his expression conveyed, but if the envy on some of the others' faces was any indication, it might have been a big fat load of relief.

Once he was out of sight and earshot, he flipped his phone open and held it to his ear. "Yep?"

"Uhm, hi. This is Stéphane."

Johnny stared at the white wall in front of him, surprised into silence.

"Johnny? Did I get this number right?"

"Yeah. What - why are you calling me?" His stomach had plummeted and his heart was beating fast. That was unusual. He had no idea why his body was reacting this way to a voice and the images flashing through his mind at the sound of it, and okay. Maybe there was a reason his body was reacting the way it did. Apparently, he needed to get laid badly.

"I hear you like a challenge," Stéphane said.

"Fucking you wasn't a challenge," Johnny heard himself say before he could filter. He winced. Then he reminded himself that Paris was not right about everything and he didn't actually have any feelings for this guy beside contempt. Just because they'd hooked up twice and he'd gotten a great pair of shoes and an above-average blowjob out of it...

"I didn't think I made it especially hard for you, so I wouldn't call it a challenge either," Stéphane said calmly.

He wasn't letting himself be baited today. Johnny sighed. "What do you want?"

"Viktor said you did a great job with the costume design. Apparently, you managed to get it done in a matter of days? I was wondering -"

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not going to make any more costumes for little wannabe princesses. This one was a favor for Eleanor who promised it to Viktor, whom I like, so it was different. It took me a lot of time, and it was pretty boring. I'm out of favors."

"It's not for - it's for _me_. I've been working on a new program since last night. I have this vivid image in my head -"

"Like a zebra?" Johnny mocked.

After a moment of stunned silence, Stéphane laughed. "You looked me up."

"I didn't!"

"You so did! Come on. Don't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested?"

"I'm not."

"I'll pay you really well. With shoes even, if you insist."

"Very funny." Johnny rolled his eyes. "Just because I was interested in your dick _once_ -"

"- twice -"

"- doesn't mean I'm interested in your life. Now, I was in the middle of an important meeting when you called, so I'll have to get back. Don't call me again."

"Fine," Stéphane said. "Thanks for nothing."

Johnny ended the call and put the cell back in his pocket. When he looked around the corner towards the conference room, he could see his agent pointing at the PowerPoint behind her, waving her hands around, trying to illustrate an argument she was making. He didn't think they were going to need him for any more of the inter-agency talks. All he ever did in those was sit there and think about porn anyway. She would be in a very forgiving mood if he came back with Starbucks cinnamon frappucinos, he knew, so he checked his wallet for cash and headed out, for the first time in a long while considering meeting up with Tanith again.

It was a bad idea, he knew. It would make her think he'd forgiven her, which - okay, he had, quite a while ago already, actually, or if not forgiven, then at least put it behind him. But she didn't need to know that. And he really didn't want to talk about the past. He had a future now. So on his way across the street, he pulled out his cell and instead of calling her, he texted Paris to meet him for lunch later.

 

~*~  


  
[Akon Ft. Leona Lewis - Forgive Me](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Johnny was very surprised when Eleanor called him on his cell phone the next morning. It was not a good time, which he told her.

"Nonsense," she said quickly. "It's always a good time. And there's a new project that looks like it's just made for you. Did you finish Viktor's request?"

"I sent the design to your desk a few days ago. Did Cynthia lose it? It should be long done, I told her specifically to rush it through fabric and sewing once Viktor approved it -"

"It's probably here somewhere," Eleanor interrupted. "I haven't had time yet to go over the newest 'Completed Project' files. Good work. Now, are you going to show up here in half an hour?"

"Not a chance," Johnny told her decisively. "Look, I have things to do today."

"Like what? Lying in bed, nursing your hang-over? Don't think I didn't hear all about last night, the gossip rags are all over it, or so I've been told. Are you going to take this job seriously now or do I have to remind you that you don't actually have a degree -?"

"Fine. Fine, I'll be there in two hours." Johnny sighed and rubbed the spot between his eyes where his head was starting to pound.

"Hour and a half."

"Traffic -"

"Goodbye, Johnny."

Johnny put down the phone and grabbed for the glass of water that always stood by his nightstand. He swallowed to headache pills and pulled back the sheets, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. It was unusual that he got two projects, even if one of them had been a personal favor, in that short a timespan. Usually, he got three or four projects a year, and he'd only worked single on two others before Viktor's costume, both of which had been low-budget, simple-cut, no special skill needed. Eleanor had to be understaffed or something. She'd let go a few people months back, but not since then. Maybe things were finally looking up at Waldorf Designs again where demand was concerned.

He jerked off under the shower, trying not to get too excited about the new job, instead thinking about hands running over his body, caressing his chest, sliding down his sides to his ass. He thought about lips on his own, dark eyes watching, thought what it would be like to have someone with him under the shower spray, pearls of water running down their skins as he pressed his forehead against the glass, imagining a cock filling him up, pushing inside him.

He came with a gasp, and rinsed off with cool water afterwards. It didn't leave him satisfied, just sapped of energy. He thought about last night, the taste of the boy's dick in his mouth, on his tongue, and shook himself out of it. He shouldn't have gone to that party. That had been stupid. He'd been working hard lately; there had been more photo shoots, another ad that had taken a few days. He was going to get heavy bags under his eyes if he skipped out on more sleep. He could already see the beginnings of a shadow.

 

The front door opened, a few turns of a key, just as Johnny was getting yogurt out of the fridge. Paris stopped in the doorway instead of coming in; he didn't look much better than Johnny did.

"You look like shit," Johnny smiled.

Paris didn't smile back. "There's a person waiting by your door," he said. "She said she's a friend?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you, I'm really sorry," a woman's voice cut in.

Johnny closed the door to the fridge and leaned against it, closing his eyes. Exactly what he didn't need. "What are you doing here, Tan?"

"Sorry, Johnny." Paris sounded apologetic.

"It's fine. Can you give us a minute?"

"Sure." Paris nodded towards the living room and vanished in there, closing the door behind him.

Tanith took his spot in the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking tiny and unhappy. "Are you going to throw me out?"

"No," Johnny said. "Not yet anyway. I don't have more than thirty minutes, though. I have to get to work, so you better get out with it fast. What do you want?" When she didn't answer, just wrapped her arms around herself, he sighed. "Sit down, for fuck's sake. Half an hour is half an hour."

"But Paris -"

"- knows how to entertain himself. Sit down."

It wasn't easier once they were seated at the table, but at least she could fidget without looming over him. He slowly licked his spoon and nodded. "Who'd he fuck?"

Tanith rolled her eyes. Immediately the spark was back, along with subdued anger. "He's not always the bad guy, you know?"

"He was once." Johnny shrugged. "Proof enough for me. Anyway, who was it?"

"No one. I mean. Evan didn't - he wouldn't. What we did, that wasn't. He really thought you'd broken up with him, okay? He's not a cheater, he's not a bad person."

"You know what? I don't think I want to talk about this." Johnny got up, empty cup in his hand, and moved to the trash to throw it away. "If you've got nothing but year-old explanations, you should go home. I'm not the person you want to talk to anyway. If you guys are having problems, you should clear it with him."

"It was me."

Johnny gave her a strange look. "I know."

"No, it was _me_. A few weeks ago, I did this stupid, _stupid_ thing. It was just the once, and I didn't even know I _liked_ girls that way, but then we were kissing and she was just so beautiful, and Evan and me, we haven't seen each other in months, what with his new schedule. We've been fighting all the time -"

Johnny stared.

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not - I'm just stunned. So what, you're like, gay now? Is she another model?"

"Yeah. [We've been working on this editorial, her name's Brooke](http://www.figureskatersonline.com/castile-okolski/photos/07photoshoot/07photoshoot008.html). We've been friends for a while, but it was never like that before, you know? And then it was."

"I am so not the person you should be talking to about this," Johnny told her firmly. "Did - no. No, really, I'm not going to say anything. This is way too much for me. I don't even date, and this is exactly the reason why I don't."

"Well, you should," Tanith said, sucking in her lower lip. "If you had a boyfriend, I could get his advice, and you wouldn't even need to listen to me. You always had great taste in boyfriends."

"Is that why you stole my last one?"

Tanith looked up guiltily.

"Oh, fuck you, I'm so over it, stop giving me that look," Johnny exclaimed, feeling a wave of exhaustion. "I got over him a few months after I found out, okay? I'm not that much of a diva to brood and moon for the rest of my life over a _guy_. It just sucks when it's your best friend, and you never even apologized. All you ever did was give me that guilt shit. Like I care."

"Is it too late?"

Johnny blinked. "What?"

Tanith reached over and tipped his hand, waiting for him to curl his fingers around hers. "Is it too late to make it up to you?" She grimaced. "I just didn't think an apology would be enough. I know what we did was the shittiest thing ever, and I didn't think you'd forgive us. Either of us."

"You didn't even try." Johnny couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I can try now," she offered. "I really am sorry. For everything. You're right, I never said it, and I should have. You deserve better, and I hope you can forgive me." Her fingers clenched around his.

Johnny tugged, rolling his eyes. "You're making me tear up," he mocked.

"Shut up," Tanith snorted. She got up, taking the two steps separating them to give him a hug. "You're still so tiny."

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it? You know what I love to hear." Johnny patted her back, butterflies in his stomach, feeling her body warm against his even when she'd already pulled back, careful not to overstep.

"Just took me two years," Tanith sighed, letting go of his hand. "Come to breakfast with me tomorrow? Please?"

"Can't tomorrow. Friday, though. We can hang out in the morning, go shoe shopping once we run out of topics to catch up on. You can bring me a cell phone full of Brooke pictures." Johnny tried a half-smile and it felt good. He was surprised at himself how easy it was.

Tanith didn't smile. She looked sad. He hated that look on her.

When she stepped out the front door, he thought about how much this wasn't his business, how much he didn't meddle in things like these because that was what he did; he didn't get involved. But then she turned on her heel once more, enveloped him in a flurry of blonde hair and Sui Dream scent.

"I missed you," she mumbled, before she let go and hurried off.

"Hey, Tanith?" he called after her.

She looked back, already a few steps down the stairs.

"Don't wait too long. You might be able to save a few pieces of your friendship with him." He didn't think about how well he'd managed not to. He wasn't sure if it was regret he felt, or if it was just the same old heartbreak that always slithered through him at the memories. At least it was dulled these days.

Tanith nodded with a tight press of her lips. He could see that she got it. As she should.

 

~*~  


  
[04-the Hush Sound-the Artist](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Paris had found a job. The re-telling of this odyssey was maybe not the reason he came to visit Johnny and hang out on his couch watching TV, but it certainly was one of the motivations. It was fitting that the backdrop to the fifteen-minutes-narrative was 'Oh Brother, where art thou?' playing on one of the channels, diverting Paris' attention now and then when one of the more hilarious scenes came on.

When Johnny finally arrived at Waldorf Designs, exactly two minutes late, soaked by rain and dripping water because he'd forgotten his umbrella, he felt like he'd been steamrolled and dragged through the sewers afterwards for good measure. In addition, his hairdo, which he'd spent twenty minutes fixing, was completely destroyed.

It was no wonder that the sight of Stéphane Lambiel standing in Eleanor's office, talking animatedly with her, all familiar hand-motions and big smile on his face, sent him into a minor fit of rage.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped, throwing the door shut behind himself. He ignored Eleanor's shocked expression and pointed his finger at Stéphane. "Are you fucking stalking me? Because let me tell you, I sleep with a bayonet under my pillow, and I wouldn't hesitate to run you through."

Stéphane didn't look scared. He just narrowed his eyes. "I'm here on business, Weir. Don't take your bad mood out on me, or we'll have a problem."

"Fuck you," Johnny hissed. "What sort of business would you have -?"

"A costume, actually." Eleanor interrupted. Her voice was cold as ice. "Now get out of your jacket, sit down and be quiet. One more word and I'll make sure you'll be washing dishes for the rest of your life."

Johnny opened his mouth to shout back, fists clenching at his sides, but his brain chose that moment to start working again, and he realized that he had exactly two options. He could let his temper get the better of him and just shoot everything he'd build in the past few years to hell, or he could take a deep breath and let it go. It wasn't easy under Stéphane's watchful gaze, and he had to remind himself more than once that this was his future, and Eleanor was in the room, and that he could be throwing away an opportunity other people would swallow cockroaches for.

He did it. He silently took the offered seat, fighting off his jacket, and kept his eyes off Stéphane, concentrating on Eleanor, her desk, and the documents she had lined up on her computer screen.

"If that's settled," Eleanor started, breaking the silence that had fallen.

Johnny nodded.

"Good." She gave him another sharp look. "Mr. Lambiel approached me about a costume that he'll need in a matter of three or four days. Apparently, none of the other designers he's approached were able to enter a contract that time-intensive while willing to work with his own ideas concerning said costume. But when I saw his original ideas, I immediately thought of you."

"I already told him I'm not interested -"

Eleanor glared. "I don't remember giving you permission to speak."

He was very close to telling her to fuck off, and that she wasn't his slave master, but the reality, sadly, was different in that she totally owned his ass, and they both knew it. He had no chance whatsoever making it on his own in the fashion world, especially without a proper degree or the experience that was required. It took years and years of training to come anywhere close to the level of expertise necessary to even attempt to build one's own fashion line. Johnny wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't there yet. Despite the fact that apparently, figure skating costumes were one of his new 'specialities'.

"The detailed requirements are all in the proposal, but I think a close working relationship with Mr. Lambiel would be beneficial to bring this project to a swift and successful end. Three days are not a lot of time, but Mr. Lambiel has offered a compensation that is more than satisfactory."

"Does that mean I'll actually get paid this time?" Johnny snarked.

"Yes," Eleanor said coolly. "If you do good work. Your task would be to draft up a few example designs. Blueprints and conceptualizations should be in by Friday; I'll look over them, do the final development stage, adapt as necessary, and we can have someone finish the sewing over the weekend." She looked at Stéphane. "I know your requirement says three days, but seeing as today is progressed past lunch, would Sunday be acceptable?"

"I'll be working on choreography till Sunday with a few people, so that would be perfect. That'll give me about a week to practice the routine before the first show." Stéphane nodded to himself. "Refinements will have to be made while I'm on the road, but I think it shouldn't be a problem to get a hold of you if I need any more assistance with the costume?"

Eleanor stood up from behind her desk. "Not a problem at all. Johnny?"

Johnny tried not to show his disdain too obviously. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Ask Cynthia to give you a copy of the documents; I sent them to her to print out. I trust you'll be able to set up a schedule with Mr. Lambiel as efficiently as you managed to work with Viktor and finish on time?"

"Friday evening's Naomi's birthday party. That should work for my deadline."

"If you make it, it'll be a good celebration," Eleanor said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. She took Stéphane's hand to shake it, and led him outside, leaving Johnny sitting on the chair, staring at the ceiling.

He couldn't believe this was happening. Now, he felt like he'd been steamrolled, dragged through the sewers _and_ kicked in the teeth after fighting his way out of it all. For a second, he considered telling Eleanor that they'd had sex and couldn't possibly work together. If there was a rule that Eleanor kept with iron fist, it was the one about soliciting clients. She'd take him off this one. She might even give it to Michael. Michael had been waiting for an opportunity to prove himself.

Except then his eyes fell on the description of the program, and he read 'Luis Milan' and 'sixteenth century Spanish royalty' and remembered a folder that had been put on hold a few weeks ago for being too edgy and too overboard, and in a lot of ways, Johnny had always been the best at fucking himself over, but he knew when it was time to pull it together and grab an opportunity by the bootstraps. If Stéphane was really as famous as he seemed to be, and Johnny could get his name attached to this costume somehow, it might be the break he'd been hoping for, the one that would get the stamp of model-wannabe-fashionista off him and make people start seeing that he was really passionate about this, that it was his goal, not a flimsy stopover.

When Eleanor came back, he was waiting for her, standing up, shoulders squared.

"That was completely inappropriate behavior, and if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll fire your ass harder than it's ever been fucked before," she told him.

Johnny nodded. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

"Good. Make sure it doesn't. Now fetch the papers, make a schedule, clear it with Lambiel, and start working." She waved him out, turning her full attention to her computer screen, a frown appearing between her eyebrows. "Get out."

He half-saluted and hurried out. She was right. He was dying for lack of sleep, was hungry and exhausted and overworked, and he had a hard two days before him. There was nothing but to get going.

 

~*~

 

 

Johnny realized he should have been nicer to Cynthia when she handed him a folder that held the documents with detailed information on his new "mission": The print was tiny, barely readable. He looked up at her with narrowed eyes. She gave him a sweet smile and said, "I sent the rest of the files to your email account. We're trying to save on paper and ink."

He didn't feel it was worth it to bitch her out about it, which was new. Instead, he pulled his soaked jacket back on and headed out. Stéphane was waiting by the door on the ground floor that led out into the parking lot. When he turned to open the door for them to step outside, Johnny caught his arm and held on by his fingernails. He made sure his expression portrayed his fury adequately and snapped, "If you think going over my head will make things easier for you, you can think again."

For a moment, he thought Stéphane was going to snap back. He didn't, though; he just dislodged Johnny's arm and said with an air of calmness that wasn't very convincing, "I didn't choose this to happen, believe me, I'd much rather go without the drama. But Waldorf Designs has done some good work with figure skating costumes, and they're the only label that has offered me full collaboration and end product decision rights. I went to Eleanor Waldorf hoping she'd assign me someone else."

"You didn't say anything about this inside!"

"She showed me your concept folder with your ideas for the new collection. It fits my vision very well." Stéphane sneered. "I decided to overlook your manic tendencies and outbursts in favor of getting a superior costume that satisfies my demands. My mistake."

"Fuck you." Johnny jammed his fists into his pockets. "I hope you're paying as well as you say you are."

"I am, but being a cog in the great machine, I'm pretty sure you're not going to see a lot of that money," Stéphane said. He gestured to the door. "Do you want to leave now or what?"

"I'm going back home," Johnny told him, and ignored the fact that Stéphane held the door open for him. "Don't follow me."

"Like I'd do that."

"You never know." Johnny bared his teeth. "Some people just can't get enough of me."

"Can't imagine why," Stéphane told him curtly. "Do you want to figure out a schedule or do you just want me to let you work and tell you in the end how much I hate it?"

"I'll work on ideas tonight. The day's been bad enough without the constant sight of your face adding to my urge to bury under the covers. We can meet tomorrow morning to go over it all and discuss changes and details."

"No."

Johnny paused for a blink. "No?" he repeated. "What do you mean, 'no'? We have two and a half days, that's almost too little time for the intricacies of a figure skating costume like you want it!"

"That's what I'm talking about." Stéphane nodded gravely. "Your problem is that you design like it's a stage costume. Even the dress for Viktor's student, I saw it, it was for the runway, not for figure skating. It's because you don't have the experience."

"Excuse me for not being an Olympian figure skater on top of everything else!"

"That's not what I meant." Stéphane sighed. "Just - humor me?"

"What are you planning?" Johnny asked. He wasn't stupid. He had a feeling he knew what Stéphane was planning. He didn't want to do it.

"I'm planning to teach you the realities of figure skating so that it will make your design of the costume better."

Johnny glanced out into the rain and shook his head. "I have skated before, you know."

"Where?"

"Frozen cornfields behind my parents' house?" Johnny smirked. "That good enough for you?"

"Yeah, no. Tomorrow morning, I'm picking you up at eight, so be ready." Stéphane started walking towards his car. He didn't have an umbrella either, was drenched in a matter of seconds before he vanished out of sight.

Johnny watched him, and a part of him wanted to run after him and protest, but he just couldn't find the strength anymore. He was pretty sure this was going to go the way Stéphane wanted it to go. So he might as well accept it and move on to the next stage.

 

~*~  


  
[Let Me Be Myself](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

He ate a veggie burger once he got home, toasted it in the pan which made the cheese burn to a crisp, but sadly wilted the lettuce. Then he sat at his desk and took out his sketchbook to start on the work. He had the necessary papers strewn across the tabletop, information stored on his laptop that he had open beside him, print-outs of other costumes, fabrics, colors. He felt like it wouldn't be enough to do a good job.

Johnny tried not to think about it too much. It was just another client, just another custom job. And Stéphane had said he'd liked the late-sixteenth-century stuff he'd created, so he started out on what he knew about men's fashion during that time. He quickly found a shape that would look good on Stéphane, made the tights skin-tight, but hated the look of loose slops on top so he erased them and tried harder on the jerkin instead, imagining how it might look, fitting exactly over Stéphane's chest. He cheated on the shape of it, made it buttoned and tight around the waist to accentuate Stéphane's figure, and opened it up towards his chest so that his waist would look narrower, his chest broader. He imagined a reddish color, maybe mixed in with black, a little bit of yellowish-orange here and there, to give it a fiery touch. Stéphane would like that. He got carried away with the details when the groundwork wasn't even nearly done yet, added more ruffles than specifically necessary and scribbled some rhinestones here and there, because it was figure skating. Figure skating without rhinestones just didn't work.

A few hours later, the door to his apartment opened and Paris spilled inside, calling his name. Johnny looked up from his designs, bleary-eyed and ready to get drunk for the rest of the night, though he had to admit that working on this had been a lot more fun than he'd anticipated, and more fun than anything he'd been doodling for the past few weeks for Eleanor.

"Are we going out?" Paris asked, watching him with concern in his eyes.

"We definitely should. I'm sick looking at these, I've been staring at them for half an hour now, trying to figure out why it's still not looking like I want it to, but I can't figure it out. I've been trying to adapt some ideas of what I had previously, because Stéphane told me he'd liked the ideas, and it's definitely working, but maybe merging the style I had in mind with figure skating is not quite as easy I thought it would be at first -"

"Hang on, hang on," Paris interrupted. "Calm down. Get out of your work room. Sit down on the couch, here." He patted the spot. "Right next to me."

Johnny stood up. His neck creaked, and his back was hurting from sitting in the same position for hours. When he fell into his couch next to Paris, he couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped. He leaned over and put his head on Paris' shoulder. "Talk about killing yourself," he mumbled.

"Why would you be adapting your old designs for figure skating?" Paris asked.

"Stéphane Lambiel wants me to come up with a costume for his next program."

"Stéphane Lambiel. As in, the guy you've been fucking?"

"I know, shut up. Fuck." Johnny sighed.

"What happened to never mixing work and pleasure?"

"It's not like it was my idea! He went to Eleanor, and she assigned him to me."

Paris shook his head. "You should have told her you guys fucked."

"I know! But then I thought, hell, it's free advertisement for me, it could be my big break, and he didn't ask her to pick me. It was just the best fit in Eleanor's eyes, so it's not - it's not like there's skewed judgment or anything. It's not like we _like_ each other." Johnny groaned. "This is going to be horrible. We _hate_ each other."

"Why?"

Johnny lifted his chin off Paris' shoulder and blinked. "What?"

"Why? Why do you hate him? Why does he hate you? No, scratch that, I know why he hates you."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Johnny punched his leg.

Paris looked at him curiously. "What's so horrible about him?"

"What's not to hate about a guy like him?"

"Like him how?"

"Like - like he's making me go ice skating tomorrow so I can get a feel for what it's like to be a figure skater! How does that even make sense? There are lots of people who design stuff for - for areas they know nothing about!"

Paris' eyebrows rose. "Honesty or ego-stroking?"

Johnny's shoulders dropped. "What do you think?"

"I think he's not wrong. I think it might be a good idea. Aren't you the one who always says it's important to know the whole story of every piece you've ever made?"

Johnny got off the couch and stomped towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. "You suck as a best friend," he said, but they both knew the sulking was perfunctory. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

Paris turned his palms up. "I'll take you clubbing tonight if you want to. I've got a new job. Money money money! We can get drunk and fuck beautiful strangers?"

"I wish I could," Johnny lied. A few minutes ago, it had sounded good in his own head, but the reality was, he didn't want to go out, he didn't want some stranger. All he wanted was to stay at home and watch some TV, have some time just for himself, maybe take a bath, drink a glass of wine. "You can go if you want," he offered. Paris liked to hook up whenever something went well for him.

"Nah," Paris said. "I'm good hanging out with you. Your bitching's more fun anyway.

The wave of relief at the words was so unexpected that Johnny forgot himself and gave him a big smile. "Bath time," he mumbled. "And the good booze. Behind the fridge, can you get it while I turn on the water?"

"Ooooh, awesome," Paris said, bouncing up onto his feet. "My pink bathing suit's here somewhere, right? You didn't throw it away? We can light some candles!"

Johnny laughed and went to fetch the necessities.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane was surprised to find [Johnny standing ready the next morning](http://www.figureskatersonline.com/johnnyweir/08worlds/08worlds_p_002.jpg) when he arrived to pick him up, dressed in a faultlessly fitted designer outfit, a pretty red little jacket over leggings that hugged his slender thighs like he was waiting for someone to run their hands up and down the insides. He had expected more resistance; hell, he'd been bracing himself for flat-out refusal. He could admit to himself he'd wasted quite a bit of time last afternoon thinking about ways he could convince Johnny to do this.

He wasn't sure _why_ this was so important to him. He tended never to know that part though, and it was a comforting feeling by now, not frightening like it had been when he'd first thought about it. He hadn't _known_ back when he saw the flying zebra in his mind either, back when he'd decided he knew what his next program would be about. He'd just done it, gone with his instincts. He trusted his instincts.

Right now, his instincts were telling him not to ask Johnny why he was acquiescent today. Instead, in reply to Johnny's murmured, "Mornin'" while he climbed into the seat and buckled down, Stéphane gave him a smile and asked, "Did you sleep well?" It was the most innocuous and politely conversational question he could think of at this hour.

Apparently, Johnny disagreed. He grimaced like he'd stepped into dog shit, and snapped, "What I do at night is none of your business."

"That was not what I meant," Stéphane started, then gave up with a sigh. It was obvious Johnny had set opinions on what Stéphane wanted; he wasn't going to listen to explanations, so Stéphane just shook his head and concentrated on driving for the next twenty minutes until they arrived at the rink.

Johnny hopped out first, slamming the door behind him. Stéphane got his skates, locked the car down, and followed him to the entrance of the rink. He reconsidered about Johnny's mood. Maybe he'd been wrong thinking Johnny was doing this because he thought it was fun or that he might learn something. Maybe this was just another chore on a list. Johnny seemed to have many of those.

He caught up with Johnny at the entrance, keeping him from pulling open the entrance by calling out, "Jesus, would you just wait?"

It made Johnny pause and turn towards him. His face was no longer a mask of disdain and irritation, but the look of bored impatience wasn't much of an improvement.

"Look." Stéphane took a deep breath. "I'm not going to tell Eleanor about this either way, so if you really don't want to do this, we can just go back. It's a waste of time if you're not willing to work with me -"

"Who said anything about Eleanor?" Johnny interrupted him, voice sharp. "And what is this about me not being willing to work with you? I'm here, aren't I? I've spent all of last night wrecking my brain for your stupid costume, so don't tell me I'm not fucking 'in this'!"

"I'm just saying. The skating is only going to work if you plan on enjoying your time on the ice. If you're bitchy from the start, there's no point in doing this."

"Oh, bitchy, am I?" Johnny put his hands on his hips.

Stéphane raised his chin. "Yes."

"I haven't shown you bitchy yet, asshole, so shut up about it, will you? I'm _done_ with you treating me like you know better what I'm feeling than I do. You're so incredibly patronizing all the time and I'm _sick_ of it!"

"If you stopped acting like a child, I might stop treating you like one," Stéphane said, feeling his patience wear thin.

Johnny stepped closer, his eyes sparking with anger. "How am I acting like a child?"

"Pardon me, I meant you're acting like a spoilt little _brat_. Whatever I say, you jump at me like I'm attacking your virtue or something. I ask a perfectly innocent question and you react like I somehow managed to insult your whole lineage. But of course, I must also be after your ass at the same time, because you're just so irresistible."

"I must be pretty irresistible if simply standing close to me makes you want to fuck me," Johnny scoffed.

"Well, I don't want to fuck you now," Stéphane replied, clenching his teeth.

"Liar."

They stared at each other until a car pulled up, breaking the moment. A door slammed shut and two teens ran up the stairs, giving them weird looks as they pushed past them and inside the rink. Stéphane struggled for breath. Johnny didn't seem to be doing much better: his cheeks were reddened and he was clutching his jacket around himself.

"We should go inside," Johnny finally said when the silence became too awkward, nodding after the kids. He wasn't looking at Stéphane. "It might get crowded, and we don't have all day."

"Right."

Johnny was right. That didn't mean their fight was in any way resolved, if there was resolution to be found at all, which Stéphane doubted. He had a feeling Johnny just enjoyed the tug of it all, the trading of barbs. He wished Johnny would take it out on someone else. It was wearing him out.

 

~*~

 

It was freezing inside the rink. Johnny shivered all through the fitting of his boots despite his jacket. It didn't stop him from being deliberately obtuse though - about the size, about how they were supposed to feel around his feet, about the way he couldn't get the laces to stick. Stéphane couldn't get the woman who was handing them out to let him go through the available pairs to find one he'd accept.

In the end, they compromised on her giving him five pairs at once and he made Johnny sit on the bench, kneeling by his feet to press and prod. It didn't occur to him until a few minutes in why Johnny was sitting so stiffly, immobile, almost vibrating with the need not to move. His legs were a few inches apart, and his dick was half-hard, tenting his pants right in front of Stéphane's face once he looked up.

Stéphane felt himself color to the very roots of his hair, his scalp prickling, the heat climbing up his face. He could see Johnny was experiencing the same thing. It was idiotic. They'd been there, done that. Hell, he'd had that dick in his mouth; it wasn't like this was any different from -

But it sort of was. "Um," he said, biting his lower lip. "How are these?" Focus on the task, he told himself, willing the blush to vanish.

"They're good," Johnny blurted. "Perfect. Can we get on the ice now?"

Stéphane nodded, dropping his gaze to Johnny's lap. It was just a second in which he felt himself grow hard, remembering the way it had felt to slide his hands up Johnny's thighs, soft skin under his fingertips as he licked over the head - then Johnny was pushing at his shoulder, choked sound in his throat.

Stéphane burned up from embarrassment at being caught; he rose to his feet and stepped back, stumbling in his haste. "Let me put on mine and we're good to go," he managed to say, his voice sounded raspy in his throat. When his eyes flickered over Johnny, Johnny was staring at the far wall, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe you can practice walking around in yours a little?" he kept babbling. "Just try to think how they feel, and how to make the costume fit around them?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Johnny open his mouth then close it again as if he was swallowing a question, or a comment. Probably a comment, Stéphane thought roughly, criticizing something about what he'd just said, or sarcastically dragging it through the mud. Then, in the middle of tightly lacing his boots, Johnny suddenly sat down on the bench next to him. He was still keeping silent, just watching as Stéphane pulled the strings tighter and tighter.

Stéphane tried not to say anything, just feel the warmth coming off both of them, and the cold from the AC making the air crispy fresh, smelling Johnny's perfume, reminding him of that first time they pressed together at the party… the words found a way to slip out. He was tired of holding back when Johnny never seemed to.

"I imagined you completely different," he blurted. Johnny's eyebrows went up. He still didn't say anything, though, which only made Stéphane keep talking. "Like, when I saw you in photographs, or model on stage," he tried to explain. "I thought you were - but you aren't."

"You thought I was what?" Johnny eyed him cautiously.

"Nothing. You're just _different_ than... than I imagined," Stéphane finished and sat up, still embarrassed. His erection wasn't completely gone yet. "Ignore me," he said lamely. "Let's just hit the ice."

 

~*~  


  
[Disney- Beauty & The Beast - Something There](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

There were a few people already skating in circles around the rink, the two teenagers from before, an older man, a woman and her child. Stéphane was glad to see that they'd managed to avoid the smaller children who usually filled rinks but were in school now. He stepped onto the ice, and as always, that first change from solid footing to glide was disconcerting, made him fight to regain his balance. It had taken him a lot longer to adjust, back when he'd just started skating, and remembering that, he stayed close to give Johnny a hand once he was ready to step on.

He found out quickly [that Johnny didn't need a hand](http://www.figureskatersonline.com/johnnyweir/06worlds/brannen06.jpg). One second he was standing at the boards, looking anxious, the next he was taking strong strokes over the ice, moving like he was hearing a crowd applaud in the background. He had a little smile on his face, his eyes were half-closed and his arms were gracefully balanced on his sides.

Stéphane caught up with him once he got over his surprise, stopping him by crowding them both against the sideboards.

"You've skated before," he said, flabbergasted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did tell you," Johnny said, rolling his eyes. "Cornfields, remember?"

"Yeah, this is not cornfield skating."

"What the fuck else would it be?"

Stéphane shook his head. "You tell me. You've never had a coach? Can you do jumps?"

"Not really," Johnny said. "Like, a waltz jump I think I could manage. Everything else - I can try, but you'd have to show me what I need to do."

"When did you start?" Stéphane could believe the amazing stage presence. Johnny was a model, it was a prerequisite; he had to have vibes, otherwise he wouldn't be so popular in the scene. But that didn't explain the lightness on the ice, or the way he was technically almost flawless in his stroking. With a little tweaking, he was good enough to start working on jumps and basic footwork.

Johnny looked irritated. "What's with the inquisition?" he asked. "I thought we came here so I would get some feeling for what the costume needs to feel like? Just let me get used to the basics and then show me what you have in mind for your choreography so I can go back home to make corrections to my prototypes."

"I'm just wondering. You don't skate like a beginner, that's all."

"I started when I was twelve. I don't exactly remember. I'm from Pennsylvania, so there's a lot of winter. I came out here at fifteen. You can do the math."

Johnny got more aggravated as he spoke, and his glare was getting more pronounced, and Stéphane had to remind himself that snapping back would only lead to more animosity. He didn't know what it was about this topic that made Johnny so touchy, but making the mood even worse than it had been seemed like a waste of time. Maybe it had to do with his memories from that time. He was tempted to ask, just to see Johnny's reaction to it, but instead of inflaming the conversation, he reached out with his hand.

"What?" Johnny asked, eying him suspiciously.

"Don't tell me you've never wanted to try it."

"Try what?" As quick as the anger had risen, it vanished, and suddenly Johnny didn't sound annoyed as much as intrigued.

Stéphane allowed himself a smile. "Pair skating. Come on, I'll try and spin you."

He thought Johnny would just tell him no and to get on with his own program. Some of the people at the rink where watching them as if expecting them to misbehave and ruin it for everyone. It was true; they were acting strangely, standing by the boards all this time arguing. He couldn't blame them for being cautious, or curious as the case might be.

But Johnny surprised Stéphane - and himself if his expression was any indication - and took his hand, clutching hard so he wouldn't wrench free by accident. "Fine," he agreed. "Show me."

"Great." Stéphane was pleased to find Johnny returned the smile this time, even though it was a tiny one. "Okay, let's start like this: try skating in front of me, not too close, but close enough that I can hold you by..." He trailed off, because Johnny had stiffened under his fingertips. He wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention to every yet so tiny change in his body. "Is this all right?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah." Johnny cleared his throat. "Just, don't throw me or anything."

Stéphane gave a laugh. "No worries. But can I... harder?"

"I... What?" Johnny's head turned to him, his cheeks bright red.

Stéphane blinked, then flushed as well when he realized what they sounded like. "No, I meant. Um, can I hold on harder, or would - I don't want to hurt you."

Johnny broke free of his grip and tugged his hand out of Stéphane's. His mouth turned up at the corners almost as if against his will. "You know," he said wryly. "You were holding on a lot harder while fucking me. I don't think this will break any bones."

"I _knew_ you were going to say that."

"Why did you ask a stupid question like that, then?"

Stéphane shrugged. "Different situation. Here, I need to know exactly what's going on to make sure no accidents happen."

"But not in bed?"

"I guess." Stéphane looked around, watching a couple skate past them, attempting to do a pair routine as well. They weren't very good. He couldn't quite look Johnny in the eye. "I figured in bed, if I did something wrong, you'd just kick me in the groin. And for all I know, you could be into pain." He glanced back at Johnny with a half-grin.

"I'll only resort to kneeing your balls if my telling you to stop isn't working," Johnny promised. He skated backwards a few steps and stopped when he realized he shouldn't do that because he might run into someone. "And for the record? Not into pain that much."

Stéphane skated after him, reclaiming his hand to lead him. Then he realized what Johnny had just said. He met Johnny's eyes, raising his eyebrows. "'For the record'?" he asked. "Any reason I might need that information again some day?" Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach at the thought, and he felt blood start pooling to his groin.

Johnny cocked his head to the side, half-smirking. Then he said, "Probably not," worked himself free and took off towards the other end of the rink, feeling the ice under his blades.

Stéphane stared after him with cooling skin. His hand where Johnny had held on was still hot, but not for much longer.

~*~

 

The choreography was sloppy, and Stéphane used parts of his Four Seasons free skate for footwork passages, incorporated bits and pieces from it to help him cover the parts of the melodies that had no new choreography assigned to them yet. He was pretty good at instinctive interpretation, but he didn't feel like it would be good enough for what he wanted Johnny to see.

He had no idea how Johnny had sweet-talked the person responsible for the rink to play his music, but he had. He wasn't sure if he should be jealous that Johnny could act amicable enough to get people to do what he wanted if he just tried, or glad that Johnny didn't feel like hiding the beast from him.

When he realized what he'd just thought, he couldn't help but laugh. At least, he thought, excited and exhausted at once, they were getting somewhere. Johnny was nodding his head, mouth a thin line. He must have brought paper or gotten it and a pen from someone, because he was sketching furiously.

"What's with the laughing?" he asked once Stéphane got off the ice to sit down next to him. He hid the sketch, almost like he was shy about it.

"Show me," Stéphane grinned. "It's not like I'm not going to see it in a few minutes anyway."

"It's not done yet."

"It's a work in progress. I'm not going to judge. You need to have input from me to know if you're thinking the same direction as I am. Remember, I have final decision rights!"

Johnny scowled. "I know. Don't remind me. And no, I'm not showing it to you yet. Not unless you tell me what you were laughing about."

Since telling Johnny that he'd been thinking that he might just be both Beauty and the Beast mashed up in one person was probably not the best idea, Stéphane let it go. Instead, he glanced back to the ice. A few children had come in minutes before. They'd been waiting for him to finish. He had no idea why they weren't in school. One of them looked promising, though, skating with confidence and an ease that came from years of practice.

"Have you ever thought about having kids some day?" he found himself asking. When he turned his head because no reply came, Johnny was staring at him. "What?" he asked defensively. "I was just wondering."

"That's pretty much impossible with my natural proclivities," Johnny deadpanned. "Don't you think?"

"There's always a way if you really want something," Stéphane told him with half a glare and sat up, his back straight. "We should get going. We've got work to do."

Johnny huffed. "What did I say?"

"Nothing. You got some interesting bits from today's skating, right? Or was it a complete waste of time?"

For a moment, he thought Johnny would say yes, just to be a bitch about it, but then Johnny shrugged, looked down at his feet and smiled sweetly. "It was a good idea," he admitted. "Seeing you skate to the music helped, even though it's not the final choreography. I think I know what you're looking for now." The smile turned sheepish, his fingers rubbing at his leggings.

"Oh," Stéphane said, peering down at his face. He wasn't yet sure himself what he was looking for, but he couldn't tell Johnny that, because his heart was beating in his chest heavily, thump, thump, _thump_ , in slow-motion, and he didn't want that feeling to stop. [That smile was new](http://www3.pictures.gi.zimbio.com/NBC+USOC+Promotional+Shoot+MltTPEHHKDTl.jpg). He hadn't seen that before, and he wanted to touch it, it was like a crackle in the back of his mind, a sweet taste on his tongue. It made him slip his fingers under Johnny's chin to tip his face back up so he would look, so he would know what Stéphane was leaning in to do.

Their lips met barely, a hint of a touch behind Stéphane's closed eyes; then he felt Johnny grow very still. A split-second later, there was a flurry of motion, Johnny hopping up, almost falling over because he forgot he was still wearing the skates, and his mouth formed words, spilling over like he hadn't just been kissing Stéphane with it. "I need to get back," he said, "I only have about forty hours left and there's a lot of work to do, I have to figure out fabrics and detail work and rework the mock-up I put together, we really should hurry up, don't you think? It's getting kind of late."

He looked so painfully awkward; Stéphane swallowed the disappointment and stood up, careful not to touch him. "It's all right," he tried. "Um. Don't - don't worry, it was stupid of me to do that. Let's go give back the skates and pay. I can drive you back to your place."

Johnny winced at the last part, but he didn't protest, so Stéphane didn't ask any more questions, just waited until he got his feet sorted out and moved towards the exit.

 

~*~

 

The drive back to Johnny's apartment complex was silent. Stéphane felt the hairs on his neck stand up a few times, proof that Johnny kept glancing at him almost the same amount of times as he looked over to Johnny, trying to gauge what he was thinking. They managed to avoid each other's gaze very well though, considering the amount they spent looking back and forth.

Then they arrived. Stéphane parked the car, was just about to get out, when Johnny said, "What you said before."

Stéphane frowned. "Which part?"

"You said I was different than you imagined. Why?"

"I wasn't. I mean." Stéphane licked his lips. "I don't think I should..."

"Just say it." Johnny rolled his eyes, like he was over it, like it didn't matter. "Believe me, whatever it is, I've heard worse."

"Fine." Stéphane turned his head to look out the window, hackles rising. It always got to him, that tone of voice, the way Johnny kept dismissing whatever Stéphane thought - like it was unimportant, like he was just one of a million people Johnny Weir met and dismissed every day. He said, hopelessly frustrated and with a note of bitterness that made his feelings too evident for comfort, "When I said that, I was thinking how the way you are, the way I got to know you for the past few weeks, made me wonder why I ever found you attractive."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Johnny's back arch at the words, but the only other reaction was the sharp smile he directed right at Stéphane. His voice was icy and about as bitter as Stéphane's, when he said, "And that's why they teach us not to show too much personality on stage. So that assholes like you can make up your own for us and imagine that's what we're like when you fuck us."

"That's not what -"

"That's why they teach us never to fuck assholes like you twice." Johnny wrenched open the car door and stumbled out. "I'll send you pictures of my idea for your costume later. You'll forgive me if I don't want to see more of you right now."

This time it was Stéphane who was left staring after him as he got buzzed up to his apartment. He felt like he was exactly the type of person Johnny thought he was. It wasn't a good feeling.

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

 

  
[Coldplay - Fix You](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Johnny didn't sleep very well that night. He kept tossing and turning, and his mind kept wandering back to the previous day, to his talk with Stéphane, to the way the costume looked fine, but not perfect. It didn't look the way it was supposed to, not the way it was in his mind's eye. The hardest part was always translating the images from his head onto the paper, onto the model he had in his work room. When he woke up the next morning, he felt like he hadn't slept at all.

The first thing he did was to dress, put on his warm jacket and step out into the grey, misty streets of New York to walk down to the next Starbucks and get himself a coffee and a pastry. It was Friday. He had till tonight to finish up, and he'd sent the proposal to Stéphane last night, but he was sure it wasn't _right_ yet.

In the middle of biting into the sugary dough he'd ordered, his cup of coffee by his hand, his cell phone rang. The big surprise was that it wasn't Stéphane. It was Tanith.

"Good morning," she said. She sounded like she'd just climbed out of bed.

"Hey," he said, and remembered that he'd promised he'd meet her today. Shit. "How are you?"

"I'm... really good." She seemed surprised at herself.

"That's good to hear. Are you around? I know I promised to meet you today, but. There's something that came up."

"Oh. Uhm. I'm actually. I'm around, but if you're busy, we can do another day. I'm," he could hear the hesitation, the blush, even though he couldn't see her face. "I'm at Brooke's place right now."

Johnny allowed himself a tiny smile. "It's that good, huh?"

"I wanted you to know that I talked to Evan. I wanted you to know that we're, we're okay. And if you wanted to see him -"

"I don't."

"Are you sure? He said it might be good to just talk. Get it all out of your system, maybe bury the hatchet. I think he's a bit hurt that you've forgiven me, but not him."

"Tell him he's forgiven. I don't care. Just... I don't want to talk to him yet, okay? Maybe... maybe some day."

"Okay." Tanith let it go. "You sound tired. Are you working on something? How's the fashion imperium coming along? Conquered any lands yet?"

"Apparently, it's my destiny to become a figure skating costume designer," Johnny tried to joke.

"Oh, that's beautiful. I love figure skating. Who are you designing for?"

"Stéphane Lambiel," Johnny mumbled. "Trying to, anyway."

"Oh my god, really? Did you know he's an Olympic silver -"

"- medalist? Yes. People keep telling me." Johnny couldn't hold in the sigh.

"How did you manage to get him to give you a contract?" She coughed. "Not that you're not a great designer or anything, but don't those guys usually go to, I don't know, CK or Chris Dior?"

Johnny took a sip of his slowly cooling coffee. "I might have fucked him. Accidentally."

Tanith snorted loudly. "How do you fuck someone accidentally?" an unknown female voice whispered in the background. Tanith replied, "It's Johnny. And no, this is nothing like us."

"I had no idea who he was, that first time we ended up in bed," Johnny admitted. He ignored the looks from the three people who were at the next table over. He wasn't even using swear words. Yet.

Tanith made a sound like she was trying hard not to laugh at him. It was a little insulting, considering her own state of affairs. "First? So there have been seconds? When was the last time you let someone have seconds?"

"The first time, there was very little actual sex." This time, he smiled sharply at the looks directed at him. He continued sipping his coffee. "Anyway, we have a purely working relationship now. I'm not big enough of a moron to fuck this up."

"Hm." Tanith didn't say anything for a while. Then she said, "He's a really nice guy, you know."

Johnny blinked. "What?"

"It's just. I've met him before, he goes to fashion shows sometimes. He was at one of the parties that I attended as well, and we talked. He seems like one of the good ones, so don't, you know."

"So don't what?" Johnny could feel annoyance twist his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Tanith backtracked. "It's none of my business."

"It's really not," Johnny bit out, trying hard not to say anything he'd regret later. They were just starting to talk again. He didn't want to ruin it. He didn't have that many friends to be able to afford losing any, and he _liked_ Tanith. He'd been enjoying this conversation until now. "I have to go," he said, choosing the easiest option out of it. "I'll see you around."

"Johnny..."

Johnny hung up and glared at the group that'd been listening in shamelessly before he grabbed his almost empty cup and headed for the outside. Her words ghosted around in his head while he walked up and down the streets, not paying attention to where he was going.

When he finally decided he'd had enough fresh air and it was time to gear up and finish what he'd fucking started, he headed home.

 

~*~  


  
[Bic Runga - Sway](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Inside, Stéphane was sitting on the top step of the stairs. Johnny had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, but he was very surprised that he'd even bothered to show up, considering what Johnny'd thrown at his head the day before.

Despite still feeling guilty about that, he decided not to lay it all out in the open and risk Stéphane hurting him. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to take that without his protective shields up, so instead of greeting him, he just walked past and got his key out to open the door.

By the time he'd unlocked it, Stéphane was on his feet, too. Johnny couldn't tell what he was thinking. When Stéphane hesitated before the door, though, he just rolled his shoulders and held it open and said, "Are you coming in or what?"

"Yeah. Yes," Stéphane said, and slipped into the hallway.

"Shoes off," Johnny said and headed for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water before he went back to work. When he got to his work room, he found Stéphane already leaning against the doorframe, looking at the mock-up with interest, though he didn't dare going inside or touching anything yet.

"You want anything to drink?"

"I'm fine."

Johnny nodded and slid past him to enter the room, put a few of his magazines and print-outs away and put the model on better display. "This is the only male model I own, so I'm not sure about the size and fitting yet, but I think from just looking, you're of a similar shape, so the end product should look along these lines." He still wasn't in love with it, but it was coming along better. "Obviously, I don't have all the materials here, I got these from Eleanor's studio yesterday, but it's not the colors I have in mind, and I was thinking the jerkin might fit best if it's very stiff leather. You'll have to let me know if you can skate in something that constricting though."

"Johnny."

"I wasn't sure if you'd have the guts to skate in the tights, they're very feminine, but I definitely think you could work it, especially if we figure out a form for the slops - these, the part that goes over the tights - that will emphasize your hips. I have a sketch here with your skating boots, and I figured you might want to pull the tights over the boots? Though that will make you look like you have Sasquatch feet, and I don't like it on the ladies. It's your choice obviously."

"Can you look at me for a second?" Stéphane asked.

Johnny put his hands on his hips and glared at him. "What?"

"I like it. I love the idea, the design of it, and if we can make it red-and-black, maybe -"

"That's what I thought!"

"- and work out some of the little details that I think might not work, I will definitely be delighted to wear it."

Johnny nodded, ducking his head. "That's good."

"But before we start working on this, I need to apologize."

Johnny turned around and shuffled some papers over his desk. "It's fine," he said, making his voice as cutting as he could. "You don't have to like me to work with me, fortunately."

"I just don't understand why you feel like you have to be so hostile all the time!"

"I'm not." Johnny clamped his mouth shut. He shouldn't be humoring Stéphane. They should be working.

"No, you're right, you're not. You're just hostile towards me. I've seen you treat other people like they're worth your time and maybe a smile or a nice word now and then. But every time I say something, it's like you're punishing me and I didn't even do anything!"

Johnny didn't answer. There wasn't anything he could say to that, because it was true. Well, aside from where Stéphane was annoying and popping up everywhere without being invited, and infiltrating Johnny's life without taking into consideration what Johnny might want, and being nice and reasonable and talented and able to make Johnny's stomach flutter with something he didn't want to examine too closely. Probably irritation. He was too good-looking, too.

"Is it because we had sex?" Stéphane asked. "Because what you said yesterday, about making up a personality for you, I'm sorry about that, okay? I'm not really someone who does one-night-stands, ever, and if I'd known it would bother you so much, I would never have agreed -"

"It's not about that," Johnny interrupted him sharply. "Can you just apologize for whatever you feel you have to apologize and then can we get back to work?"

"I wouldn't have to apologize for acting like a total asshole if you didn't always manage to get my hackles up so badly."

"So now it's my fault that you're a jerk, too?" Johnny whirled around and stepped closer to him, scowling. "You know what, screw you, if you're pathetic enough to make someone else responsible for your actions and _wrap it in an apology_ , then you're obviously just beyond help."

"That's not what I said!"

"No, what you said is that I bring out the worst in you. Thank you very much, but if I wanted someone to tell me what a horrible person I am, I would just call up my parents."

Stéphane took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant, I'm really sorry if I worded it in a way that hurt you."

Johnny smiled sharply. "You wish."

"I don't know how to make you believe that I don't say things with the intention to insult you!"

"Oh, yeah, and you're a liar too."

"What?" Stéphane shook his head.

"Like what you said in the car wasn't meant to insult me." Johnny snorted. "Spare me! You don't say things like that to someone if you don't want to make them feel bad."

"Okay, fine, but I told you, if you hadn't acted beforehand like what I thought didn't matter -"

"I'm tired of your explanations and excuses." Johnny stopped in front of Stéphane and looked straight at him as calmly as he could. "I don't fucking care, okay? I don't care if you want to fuck me, or don't find me attractive or if you dislike my personality so much it drives you to suicide. We have a job to do, and that's all I want to talk about right now."

"I don't think you're a horrible person," Stéphane said.

Johnny shook his head, closing his eyes in resignation.

"But I do think it sucks that you act tough and catty and want to fight all the time."

There was a moment of silence, and then Johnny felt hands on his hips, drawing him forward. His eyes snapped open in the same moment Stéphane pressed their lips together. He'd moved so quietly Johnny hadn't heard him. It had just been a foot or two, though, so it wasn't that big an accomplishment, and he tasted like coffee and peanut butter pancakes when his tongue slid into Johnny's mouth, cautious and unlike any other time that had happened, when it had been fast and forward and passionate and like he wanted to leave an imprint that Johnny wouldn't forget.

It was a sloppy kiss, wet and languid and it felt like it took forever, with Stéphane's thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans, caressing the soft skin there, their lips making light sounds every time they met. At the end of it, Johnny felt like he was growing dizzy; his jeans were too tight around his erection, and he wanted Stéphane's hand to wander lower, rub at the seam of the pants, touch his butt, push his thigh between Johnny's legs, up against his dick.

They were both breathing hard. Stéphane just couldn't shut up though, always had to say things that ruined everything, and he continued like he'd never broken off, voice rougher than before. "It sucks," he said, "because it makes people ignore that you can be smiling shyly, or beaming with pride at something you've worked for a lot, and that's really. Those are the bits that seem real."

"Everything I do is real," Johnny said hoarsely. "If you can't deal with that, your hand has no business being anywhere near my dick." He pulled away despite his body begging for him to stay in place, see it through to its possibly very pleasurable end. "Also, we're working together now."

Stéphane clenched his hands to fists. "I didn't see you protest when I had my tongue down your throat."

"Hard to speak up during that," Johnny told him, lifting his chin. "Now, do you want your costume done by this weekend or not?"

For a moment, he thought Stéphane would just throw the project and leave, he looked so frustrated and out of depth. But then he collected himself, put on his stubborn face and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Fine," he said. "We only have a few more hours, after all. Have you got colors and fabrics I can look at or do you want to drive somewhere so we can pick some out?"

"We can look some up on the internet, and once you have a rough understanding on what you want, we can head out for an hour or so." Johnny pointed at the chair. "Sit down. This will take a while." Then he went out to get another chair. He stayed in the kitchen for good six or seven minutes, but when he finally returned, Stéphane didn't comment. They sat far enough apart not to accidentally touch for the rest of the morning.

 

~*~

They delivered the finished drafts of the costume design as well as the prototype they'd created and Stéphane's measurements to Waldorf Designs late in the afternoon. Stéphane was glad to see it done, and even though he knew he would have to test the costume once it was done to make sure he could actually skate in it, he was very happy with the end product.

The girl Johnny approached about the sewing and finishing up the end product was named Marie. She seemed busy enough with other projects, but when she saw Johnny, she stopped her work on a dress she'd been embroidering and looked up at him with a smile, like she was happy to see him. Johnny'd told him to wait by the door, so he couldn't actually hear what they talked about, but he saw enough to realize that the woman - she was a little older, maybe end-thirties, with lines around her mouth from laughing - liked Johnny a lot, enough that she immediately took a look at his drawings and pointed a few things out.

Johnny's eyes were soft and he nodded, gesturing patiently, probably explaining some of his scribbles to her. Stéphane felt his stomach tighten with a raw surge of envy. He knew he had no right, but something inside him still screamed that it was unfair, protested Johnny's treatment of her when he was mostly rude and defensive with Stéphane.

He didn't say anything when Johnny came back, just asked, "Are we done for today?"

"For today," Johnny nodded. "She's going to get started on basics tonight, and probably work on it tomorrow morning. She will call you in when she's ready to stitch it up on you, fit it on you specifically, so I gave her your cell number, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Be ready around noon for her to call you. She's a really efficient worker, so she'll be done fast."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Johnny waved it off and turned to leave again.

Stéphane followed, a little unsure what to do with himself now that this part of their collaboration was over. He'd enjoyed working with Johnny on the creation, picking out the fabrics and colors, shaping the costume to its final stage. He felt a sense of loss at the thought that it was over now.

"Where are you off to?" he asked once they got back to Stéphane's car. They sat down and Stéphane started the engine, directing the car onto the road, glancing over to Johnny for directions.

"Just get me home," Johnny said. "I have a social event tonight, Naomi's birthday party, and I really can't miss that one, so I'm going to catch up on a few hours of sleep and then get ready to mingle with my fellows."

Stéphane blinked. "Are you - do you mean Naomi Campbell?"

"Who else?" Johnny grinned.

"Wasn't her birthday back in May?"

Johnny shrugged. "She hasn't been back to New York since the assault charge against her, so I guess she's trying to catch up with people." He hesitated. "Why, are you interested?"

"Interested in what?"

"If you wanted to go to the party, chill out for a night, drink and have fun, I could get you in. Are you free?"

Stéphane turned a right after the next lights, then cleared his throat. "Are you asking me that?"

"What?"

"I mean… is this, like. A date sort of thing?"

"What?" Johnny repeated, but this time, his tone of voice was more incredulous than confused. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Don't go there."

"We're not working together anymore, and the past three days were more than enough of an experience that I know what I'm getting myself into. And you're attracted to me." Stéphane glanced away from the road and towards Johnny for a second.

"Oh, believe me," Johnny snorted. "if I dated everyone I was ever attracted to, you would not be driving me home."

"Fine. I get it, you don't want to be serious." He pulled up by the entrance to Johnny's apartment building and stopped on the road. He tried to make his voice as calm and unannoyed as he could when he added, "No hard feelings."

Johnny opened the door, but hesitated. "Does that mean you're not coming?"

"No, I think I'll go, if the offer's still open?" Stéphane had no idea why he said that. But a night out sounded fun, and he'd never been to a party before that was hosted by a female supermodel. He thought back to his friends in Europe and how Carolina would kill for the opportunity.

"Sure, as long as you don't go crazy stalker on me," Johnny warned.

"Send me details, then, you've got my contact info."

"I will. See you tonight, then."

Johnny shut the door and walked back to his house. Stéphane watched him and contemplated that that had been cordial enough to almost pass as friendship, if he squinted really hard. He wondered if Johnny was making a conscious effort or if he just stopped making a conscious effort of driving Stéphane up the wall. He was happy that they both seemed to be holding their tempers, though. That was definitely a step in the right direction.

What direction that was, exactly, he had no idea. He wasn't even sure that he _wanted_ to date Johnny, if he was honest. His gut - hell, his stupid heart told him that it was a good idea, that they could make it work if they wanted to, especially if Johnny turned out not to be all sharp angles and edges, but also sweet smiles and kisses and patient words and gestures, like he frequently was to some of the other people.

His brain told him it was a hilariously bad idea to pursue this any further. He wanted to listen to his brain. Then again, his brain had also told him figure skating was for girls, and that coming to New York was not the best idea he'd ever had.

The jury was still out on the latter.

 

~*~  


  
[Katy Perry - Hot N Cold (cornail Remix)](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

As much as he enjoyed fashion, Stéphane preferred to be comfortable to fashionable in his usual style choices; for the evening, however, [he decided to dress up instead of down](http://www.stephanelambiel.ch/upload/galerie/76/1871.jpg). Johnny'd sent him an email saying he'd pick Stéphane up if he wanted to, provided he could take a cab back, and that casual was fine for the party: [Stéphane ended up in tight black pants that he knew made his ass look great and a white button-down shirt with a light jacket on top](http://www.stephanelambiel.ch/upload/galerie/76/1880.jpg), courtesy of Balenciaga. He couldn't decide whether to wear eyeliner or not, which was one reason why he finally broke down and called Carolina.

"Help me, Obi-Wan," he yelped at her when she picked up.

"It's midnight," Carolina groused. "I have practice at six in the morning. This better be good."

"You weren't even in bed yet," Stéphane argued.

"Prove it."

"I'm going out tonight."

"That's great. Congratulations, you're not a _total_ anti-social loser."

"Ha ha. Thanks."

"Stéphane." Carolina sighed. "What's going on? Can't you bug Alex with it? Isn't this roommate material?"

"It's best friend material." Stéphane grinned. She'd walked straight into that one.

She knew it too, because she snorted. "Fine. You have half an hour. Talk."

"It's Naomi Campbell's birthday party. All the important fashion people will be there, I think. I might meet Kimmie again. And Ben Agosto. You want me to ask him how he is from you?"

"Twenty-nine minutes," Carolina reminded him. "Also, I'm so jealous. Is there a plane I can take that will get me there in time to join you? Who else is going to be there? Any of the designers? Any chance Ives Saint will drop by? I've always wanted to meet him!"

"I have no idea. That's what I'm _saying_ , though! I'm dressed okay, I think -"

"- Balenciaga?"

"… yes."

"Heh."

"Shut up. What else do I need?"

"Eyeliner and a scarf."

"I'm not going to wear a scarf."

"Are you sure? It's sort of a trend-setter, isn't it? I think it would look good on top of the white shirt I know you're wearing."

"Am I really that predictable?"

Carolina laughed brightly. "You always wear the same thing when you want to impress. It's cute, but utterly predictable, yes. Which doesn't say it's not hot. I mean. I dated you. So."

"Eyeliner? You're sure?"

"And a scarf. It'll shake up the outfit."

"Okay. Thank you." Stéphane waited for a few seconds, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked good tonight. His hair was cooperating for once, too, which was a relief.

"Why are you really calling?" Carolina finally asked. "You didn't want my advice on eyeliner, not really, so don't lie. What's going on over there? Is it the fashion thing again? I know acting school didn't work out and I heard - over three sources by the way, which, thank for letting me know, _best friend_ \- that you have a new program you've been choreographing and planning for the Champs tour. Are you trying to get into fashion again? Because I remember that not working out so well, never mind how good the zebra idea was."

"No, it's not that. It's... do you remember Johnny Weir?"

"Wait, who's he again? Jesus, Stéphane, of course I remember him." She was rolling her eyes, he knew it. "What about him? Did you guys meet up in New York?"

"You could call it that."

Carolina breathed down the line a few times, and he could hear her collect herself. "Are you dating him?"

"No, no." Stéphane shook his head at himself in the mirror. "No, I'm not."

"But you're fucking him."

"I - have. But it wasn't - it didn't mean anything."

"For him or for you?"

"Either of us?"

"You don't sound sure." Carolina sounded skeptical. "Do you _want_ to date him?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Stéphane rubbed his forehead. "I don't know how to explain. He's interesting, okay? It's not just that he's got this presence about him, or that he's smart and resourceful and so full of ideas, it's that I really want to get to know him better."

"Why don't you, then?"

"He's not - he's sort of jaded. Closed off. He's not a jerk to everyone, but when I try to get close, he's just blocking everything I do. I'm _trying_ to be nice, you know? Hell, I am nice, but it's like he's not letting me be nice to him, how fucked up is that?"

"That is screwed up," Carolina agreed. "And you don't need to tell me, I know how you get when someone's baiting you."

"He just makes me so mad sometimes; I can't help but get mean. But I don't want to hurt him. Not that he believes me. I think he believes everyone's out to hurt him."

"Is it worth the effort?"

"How do you mean?"

Carolina took her time to think it over. He knew she was always very careful about wording things that might be uncomfortable to him. It was one of the reasons their relationship had taken two years to unravel. She was honest, but in a way that she let other people figure out their shit. Stéphane knew he could be pretty slow about some things.

"I think," he tried. "I think I could really - like. Really, really like him. A lot. If he let me."

"And you're attracted to him."

Stéphane hummed.

"A lot?"

"Yeah?"

"How much?"

"Carolina!"

"I'm kidding. Seriously, though. How many days do you have left in New York? Ten?"

"Yeah. Before taking off towards Boston and then Conneticut. That's the other thing, that I just don't know if I want to stay in the US, which might be crucial? I love Lausanne. And my family is in Switzerland, and there's you and my friends -"

"Don't think about that right now. It's an obstacle, but not... you know how it is. You're a figure skater. We don't have a lot of choice, but we make it work. _We_ made it work even though we hardly saw each other. At least as a model, he has a lot of free time to come visit you in Europe and bill his agency for it."

"He's trying to build a fashion imperium. I don't think a lot of free time is at his disposal. He's ambitious."

"Oh, _I_ know."

Stéphane opened his mouth and closed it again, breathing out. "Fine," he said. "I'm predictable and have a type. Moving on."

They were quiet on the phone for a while, and Stéphane checked the clock. Twenty minutes; his phone bill would be immense, but right at this moment, he really didn't care. He'd missed talking to Carolina. "I miss you," he told her, because he thought it was important to share this sort of information.

"I miss you, too, Stéphane. That doesn't solve your little dilemma though."

"What would you do?"

Carolina sighed. "You're a figure skater. When do you ever go the easy way?"

"Damn it," Stéphane said. "That's not fair."

"When you were seven, you decided you wanted to spend the next twenty or so years of your life fighting your body every step of the way towards your goal of winning an Olympic medal. Breaking down a boy who's afraid of being hurt should be a piece of cake if you really, really want to be in a relationship with him."

"You're so smart," Stéphane told her.

"That's why you call me, and don't you forget it. I expect free tickets to every and all fashion shows Johnny Weir's a part of once you've got him tied down good and proper, you hear me?"

Stéphane laughed. "Sure thing. Back to the eyeliner now."

"You better."

"Sleep well."

"Party hard and take him home with you."

 

~*~

 

Johnny picked him up just past seven. When Stéphane opened the car door, he didn't even glance in his direction, just nodded, missing the way Stéphane greeted him with a smile.

"It's just about ten minutes outside the city, so you shouldn't have any trouble catching a cab home whenever you want to leave," he said.

"All right," Stéphane replied and watched him out of the corner of his eye. He was waiting for Johnny to look over, give him something, but Johnny just kept his distance, almost like the last day hadn't happened at all. Like nothing of it had happened, like they'd just met and didn't plan on becoming friends.

He swallowed a sigh and reevaluated once more if it was really worth fighting for this. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe the glimpses of attraction really weren't enough and Johnny had no feelings for him whatsoever. That would suck, he thought with a sinking feeling to his stomach, almost like everything but his mind had already decided for him that this was what he wanted. It was disconcerting.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, and when they arrived at the house, decorated with bright latern lights, people sitting on the front porch with glasses of wine and beer and drinks with little umbrellas, laughing, the music spilling out, Johnny seemed to relax a fraction. His shoulders dropped and he parked aggressively, before climbing out of the car.

"The bar's inside, the pool's out back, you can hang with the people on the porch if you want to smoke up," he said, gesturing towards different directions. He locked the car once Stéphane'd thrown the door shut, and gave him a half-smile. "Have fun."

It was pretty clear he had no intentions to hang out with Stéphane any longer than necessary. The sinking feeling worsened. Stéphane licked his lips and ignored the little voice inside his head that was telling him to catch up with Johnny and blow up in his face for being rude and bad-mannered.

But that wouldn't have been appropriate. After all, _he_ 'd asked to be here. Johnny had never raised his expectations by telling him they would spend time together. Maybe it was time to find his way around and look for faces he recognized, or for the bar, so he could at least get a drink.

 

~*~  


  
[03 Amy Macdonald - Poison Prince](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

In the end, the party turned out to be more fun than he'd expected. Everyone was young and beautiful and tipsy enough to laugh and enjoy it when he danced with them. Both boys and girls leaned into him, grinded up against him when he joined them on the dance floor, sometimes one, sometimes more, rubbing and going down on their knees to look up at him with sultry eyes, breathing hotly against his pants.

The music was loud, pulsating, beating hard out of the amps, making his heart jump in his chest, a steady rhythm that went straight to his dick.

He had no idea how much time had passed. He was blinded by the bright lights, reflections on white teeth of laughing people and their shimmering dresses, covered with little golden flakes or shining rhinestones. He had no idea where he'd left his jacket, and his shirt was sweated through. Nobody cared. People just pressed closer, demanded more, wanted to hold him longer.

Someone kissed him, which was his cue to leave the dance floor. He had no intention of hooking up with anyone tonight (liar, his mind called), and kissing in this sort of environment was dangerous. He'd spent a good amount of his teenage years underground partying to balance out the strict discipline of skating. He knew getting drugged under the tongue wasn't uncommon, and he had no intention of landing himself on X or something worse.

He headed for the bar instead, ordered water and a beer. Both were ice cold and tasted like heaven on his tongue, sliding down his throat. It was only when he sat down on a stool to overlook the scene that he saw Johnny not far off, moving in tune with the song coming out of the speakers.

[It was one of those fast-paced, sexy songs](http://www.box.net/shared/h0sf41kr7y) that were good for sidling up to someone else; Johnny didn't need to sidle up. Johnny was dancing, his arms around another guy's hips, one hand down the front of his pants, biting his neck as they ground together, occasionally hidden by the shadows, then in bright red or blue lights, in plain sight until another couple moved in front of them, blocking the view.

Stéphane swallowed heavily and turned back to his beer, downing it in one long gulp. So much for that. Apparently, Johnny was very well able to make his own fun. He tried hard not to let it get to him, but it was difficult. It shouldn't have been - he knew Johnny preferred hooking up to long-term romance. Johnny had been exceedingly clear on that. Still, he'd been sort of hoping he could change Johnny's mind about that.

Of course, there was always that thing where changing people was never as easy as the novels advertised. Then again, he didn't want to _change_ Johnny; he just wanted to melt some of that tough hide off to get at more of the sweet-natured, shy-smiling boy he'd seen in glimpses. He knew it was there somewhere. Johnny couldn't possibly keep up the bullying twenty-four seven.

"Excuse me?"

Stéphane looked up, hoping whoever it was wasn't trying to start a conversation with him. He wasn't in the mood. He did jump in his seat when he realized who he was talking to. He'd met some of the models, danced with some of them even, but Tanith Belbin hadn't been among them yet.

"Hi," Stéphane said amiably. "How're you?"

"I'm good. I'm really good right now, thank you. Uh, do you - do you remember me, or -?"

"Yeah. Tanith, right?" Stéphane shrugged, trying to act casual. He'd met her twice, no, three times, when he'd been to Fashion Week, twice in Italy, once Paris; he'd admired her style, and she'd always been excruciatingly nice. On one occasion, they'd spent a good hour talking - right before she had to get up on stage too, and she'd said talking to him had helped her calm her nerves.

"I saw you win that silver on TV this winter," Tanith smiled. "You were very good; I absolutely loved your performance."

"Thank you." Stéphane felt himself flush with pleasure. "I had no idea you liked figure skating."

"I skated myself for a while," she grinned. "You know, being from Canada and all that. It was that or hockey. Not that I didn't try hockey. But I preferred pairs skating, and then ice dancing. Couldn't find a good partner, though, and then I got an offer from a modeling agency…"

"Were you good?"

"They said I showed promise. But hey, modeling worked out pretty well for me, so I'm not complaining. What are you doing here?"

"I've been staying in New York for a while," Stéphane admitted. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Uh, coke?"

"Sure." He got her a glass, pushed it over. "Ironically, I came here to get away from skating for a while. But then I got inspired, and have been working on a new program for a show I'll be skating in very soon."

"Right. Johnny mentioned that you needed a new costume," Tanith nodded, sipping slowly.

Stéphane stared. "Johnny mentioned?"

"Oh, you don't - we're friends. Sort of. Well, we're really good friends, if you ignore the, like, two years in between where we had a rough patch."

"Right." Stéphane shook his head and glanced over to where Johnny'd been dancing a few minutes ago. The spot was empty. They didn't go very far, though. Now they were making out against the far wall. He quickly looked away.

Tanith sighed, having followed his gaze. "Yeah," she said, sounding frustrated. "I'm sorry about that."

"You're sorry?" Stéphane asked. "What? Why?" He could see her blush even in this light, and felt his stomach twist with nervous anticipation of what she'd heard.

"It's not - he doesn't talk about this stuff, so I only know that you guys were hooking up? I was sort of hoping you'd maybe get together." Her eyes were sad when she smiled.

Stéphane half-smiled back. "I don't think so," he managed, against everything he'd been hoping for as well. As things were, Johnny didn't seem all that interested in anything but what that other guy had down his pants.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" Tanith asked. "We could go somewhere quieter."

Stéphane's swiveled back to face her, eyes widened. "You don't mean, like…? Because I don't think, like, I tried the girl thing, and that didn't work out so well, not that you're not very attractive…"

"No, no!" Tanith giggled. "No, I just meant. So we can talk better. The music is sort of loud, and I was getting bored of the lightshow."

"Oh." Stéphane felt embarrassed. She was probably feeling sorry for him, mooning away after a guy like he was. Still... "Okay?" At least, he thought, this way, he wouldn't be forced to watch anymore, and the boredom might dwindle. This always happened whenever he wasn't singing or dancing at parties like these. He'd drunk quite a bit, but not enough to feel more than tipsy. Definitely not enough to drop the inhibitions that were responsible for making a party less exciting than it had potential to be.

His attention was diverted from the circling thoughts when someone came up behind Tanith, who'd gotten up. She suddenly had arms hanging around her neck, with a girl attached to them who seemed to be high, though not dangerously so. She was very pretty, with long, curly hair down her back, and a beautiful smile.

"Tan," she mumbled and kissed Tanith's neck. "Were you getting ready to leave? Are you not having any fun?"

"I'm good, honey. I'm having a lot of fun talking to Stéphane. Have you guys met? No? Okay, Brooke, this is Stéphane, figure skater extraordinaire. Stéphane, meet the wife."

Stéphane smiled and nodded his head in greeting. "You're married?"

"Oh, no," Brooke laughed. "We just like the word so much that it stuck. So much better than 'girlfriend'. Everyone uses that now, never mind whether they're together or not. So we're both wives. Maybe some day real ones, too."

Tanith shrugged and laughed along, possibly at his expression, which must have been a little overwhelmed.

"Well, let me know when you're ready to leave," Brooke announced and kissed Tanith's cheek. "Join me if you wanna dance." And then she was off again.

"You want to go -?" Stéphane pointed his thumb in the direction in which she'd vanished.

"Oh, no, she'll be fine. I still wanted to talk to you a little, if you don't have any other plans?"

Stéphane gave her a suspicious look, but followed when she cocked her head to the side and indicated she would lead the way.

 

  
[Good Charlotte - Secrets](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

Tanith didn't lead him to the front porch nor towards the swimming pool as he'd almost expected. Instead, they made their way through the hallways of the house, until they reached a more or less unoccupied staircase that led down into a basement where another kind of music was playing, more of a hip-hop/rap thing that was less Stéphane's thing. The music was a lot quieter up here than it had been before.

Stéphane'd grabbed another beer, and was glad about it now when he sat down on the steps and had something to hold onto and drink from. Tanith was still holding the coke. She didn't seem worried.

"So, about Johnny," she started, and sat down next to him, a step down, but turned to the side so that she could look up at his face.

Stéphane startled. "You brought me here to talk about Johnny?"

"I'm a fairy godmother," Tanith smiled sheepishly. "I just can't help it, when I see two people who I think might click, I have to _do_ something. And I like you, so I thought maybe if you had more information about him, and someone to talk to, it would work out?"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Stéphane tried. "He really wouldn't like this."

"Sometimes, Johnny has no idea what's good for him," Tanith said.

Stéphane bit his lip. He wanted to ask her how _she_ knew what was good for him, but refrained. Maybe he could just let her talk until she was done and leave. Or maybe she was right, and even if it didn't do what she expected, it could still help him out. He surprised himself with the intensity of the feeling he suddenly had, that resolve to _try_. It was like seeing Johnny with another person had only strengthened it, instead of making him give up.

Tanith drank, then cleared her throat. She looked like she was ready to launch into a speech she might have had prepared beforehand. Stéphane wondered if she'd planned all this, but had no time to ask, because she was starting to speak.

"He's lonely, okay?" she said. "I just want him to be happy. And I did a thing I'm not proud of to him that I'm in dire need to make up, so I want to help."

"This is a exoneration kind of thing?" Stéphane asked in disbelief.

"No! No, he's forgiven me, we're definitely on our way to be good friends again. But I still feel like - let me start from the beginning?"

Stéphane sighed and buried his face in his knees. "It's going to be a long night, isn't it?"

Tanith half-grinned. "Tired?"

"I wasn't until a few minutes ago." He closed his eyes.

Tanith didn't look ruffled at all by this statement. It seemed to amuse her, if anything, and it only made her launch more passionately into the tale.

This was how Stéphane learned that Johnny'd gone off to New York at fifteen years of age, without finishing high school, under the heavily disapproving eyes of his parents, with the clear intention of becoming a fashion model and designer. He'd earned his diploma at a public school in New York, but that hadn't improved his relationship with his parents.

"We met when he first got here," Tanith explained. "I took him under my wing as much as I could. He never went home. I think he's still mad at them because he thought he had their unwavering support in anything he'd choose to do, and they didn't back him up."

"They're still holding a grudge?"

" _He_ 's holding a grudge, as far as I can tell," Tanith said. "When I asked, back before our falling out, Paris, his best friend and on/off-roommate, told me they were calling him frequently, but he didn't feel like dealing with them. So. But maybe that's changed by now. We haven't had a lot of opportunity to talk."

Stéphane gave her a long look. "As interesting as this is," he finally said. "Is there a reason I need to hear this from you?" He had to admit, he wasn't very comfortable with that. He'd much rather hear it from Johnny himself.

"Because he's screwed up about trusting people," Tanith explained. "And it's not like that just happens, out of the blue. He's been fucked over by a lot of people, and the fashion industry is not exactly a trust-inspiring place. Look at what happened with Marc. The whole feud between Waldorf and Jacobs, and Marc turning out to be doing drugs -"

"Marc Jacobs is doing drugs?" Stéphane asked, shocked.

"Shh. It's not like anyone wants to publicize that."

Stéphane snorted. "But everyone knows about it?" He couldn't hold in his chuckle, bitter as it was. "Maybe our two industries are more similar than anyone thinks, after all."

"Yeah, well. Johnny, some integrity left, gave him an ultimatum, which, as a model," Tanith said. "I mean, it's just insane. And he even managed to get Eleanor on his side, but it still backfired. Mark refused to go to rehab, so they split."

Stéphane had to force himself to close his mouth. His jaw clicked and he ran his hand through his hair, forgetting for a moment that it was full of gel and hair spray. His hand returned disgusting and greasy and he had to look for a tissue to wipe it off.

"What's your story with Johnny?" he asked when he had it clean again.

Tanith looked away. Apparently that was one line of conversation that made her uncomfortable. To her credit, she didn't avoid speaking of it. "About three years back, he started dating Evan, another model," she said.

"Evan?"

"[He did a spread with Tony Duran very recently](http://www.dnamodels.com/sites/dnasite/modelphoto/3533_06-2009_Unknown_USA_front_3.jpg)? He's not that big in the runway scene, he's more into photography."

"Right."

"Well, let's just say Evan wasn't comfortable telling anyone about their relationship because of the whole sexuality issue. It was pretty hard on both of them, and they kept breaking it off and getting back together. Add to that the rivalry of getting the best editorials and photographers to do shoots and being top of the agency selection..."

"What happened?" Stéphane had a slight inkling. He could see where she felt really guilty about something, and it didn't take a genius to figure out the rest.

"They had a huge fight. Evan took off, and we'd grown really close over the past few months, with me being Johnny's best friend, so he came to me. He told me they were over for good, that they were never going to work out. And then we got drunk and had sex." She covered that last sentence so quickly and smooth that he almost missed it, only not. It did not come as that big a surprise, after what he'd heard.

"Let me guess," Stéphane said. "Johnny didn't think it was over."

Tanith nodded, rubbing her eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I could keep them both, if we just told Johnny, but I was wrong. Johnny thought we'd both betrayed him. I don't want to sound arrogant, but I think it was worse that it was me, than just the fact that Evan had... you know."

"Cheated on him?"

"He didn't, though." Tanith sighed. "Oh, well. Semantics. We've been hashing out the same thing for two years amongst ourselves. It doesn't change anything. He's been really different with all that going on. And he can't catch a break, the poor guy."

Stéphane waited if there would be more, but Tanith seemed to be done talking. He was surprised; it had seemed like she was going to go on about it a lot longer. Though it had already taken a while. He moved, uncrossed his legs. He cleared his throat.

Tanith smiled sadly. "That was basically all I wanted to say. It's okay if you need some time to process." She glanced at her watch, couldn't quite look at him. When he didn't say anything, the silence seemed to freak her out, and she added, "Do you want a ride home? I think dredging all this up took the last of the party spirit out of me. I just wanted you to know, okay? So you don't run into anything blindly."

Stéphane didn't mention that this did not sound like the reason she'd given him just about an hour before. That would have been mean. And really, he got it, in a way. She wanted to put things right. He just didn't know if this was a good way to go about it, never mind that it was of course beneficial for him to know this, just in case.

"I'd love if you could drop me off," he told her instead, returning her smile.

"Let me just get Brooke, then."

They both got up, and he gave her a hand. She didn't let him take it away once she had it, and held on until they rejoined the majority of the crowd, the music and the dancing. It seemed to make her feel better, so he didn't protest.

Once in the car, though, with Brooke half-dancing to tunes that only existed in her head, Tanith turned to glance at him before she headed out onto the street that would take him home, and said, "I just think he's worth fighting for, is all. You know what I mean? And I wish I'd done that, instead of just giving up and going with Evan back then."

It was a good way to end the evening, Stéphane thougt. With a closing remark from someone who was an avid supporter of what Stéphane himself wanted maybe just as badly. Sadly, he also knew that the other key player of this drama had probably already found someone else to amuse himself with, and that didn't leave him the best feeling in the world to go to sleep with.

 

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

 

  
[Gentleman - Rainy Days](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

The lady on the screen turned towards her gentleman, hands folded atop her chest, and peered up into his face lovingly. He was gruffly handsome, a stark contrast to her delicate features.

"Do you fear heartbreak?" she asked, voice high-pitched, trembling with emotion, while she took another step forward, clearly unafraid.

It seemed to startle him, like he hadn't been expecting the question. But when he looked into her eyes, what he saw there seemed to only reinforce his feelings, and he caught her heart-shaped face in his palm and swooped down, placing a chaste kiss onto her lips.

"I don't fear anything as long as I hold your love, milady," he promised.

 

Stéphane buried his spoon in the box on his thighs and drew it up once more, stuffing the next spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. It was sort of fitting, he thought, as he watched them run hand-in-hand through what he assumed was the garden behind her castle. The irony was not lost on him, since he knew what was coming. It was clearly a tragedy. The young fellow wasn't going to hold out long. There was no such thing as true love. He stabbed his ice cream again.

He'd woken up late, in time with his phone ringing, and had had to scramble to make it to his fitting, which, as Johnny'd predicted, had been scheduled for him at noon. Thankfully, Annie - no, Maggie? - hadn't been mad at him. She was a lovely little creature. It hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it might be, standing around for about two hours while she ran around with her tape measure and pin needles and pieces of fabric that were clearly shaped and sown to be his costume at some point.

Towards the end on the session, just as lunchtime had passed, Johnny'd shown up at the studio; he'd looked about as hung-over as Stéphane had felt, and he hadn't said anything past a greeting to Mary. Marie? Marie, that was it. He'd ignored Stéphane completely, which had been even more rude than leaving Stéphane all by himself at that party last night.

Not even the weight room had managed to take the edge off his anger this time. His muscles were aching now, but his mind was still racing.

He didn't want to give up, now less than ever. His fighting spirit was aroused. Tanith had told him Johnny wasn't as uninterested as he seemed, that he was just scared. Stéphane sent a disdainful look at the two figures on his TV screen, trapped in that Shakespearian web of calamity. He wasn't scared of heartbreak either. He wasn't sure if he'd ever _felt_ real heartbreak in his life, but he wasn't scared of it. He wasn't scared of Johnny being a mean little bitch.

There were other things to think about beside Johnny, too, he knew, but he already had a timetable for those. If he wanted to, he could be well-organized. Skating practice, work-out, meeting with Salomé who'd agreed to come out here, since she'd never actually seen New York before, and he wanted her to help with his choreography. He'd made some friends at that party last night, too, aside from Tanith and Brooke, who'd invited him to come over for dinner if he had time next week.

He would have to plan carefully. He was leaving in just over a week. He had that much time to try and woo Johnny, maybe prove to him that he was reliable and didn't just want him for the sex; that he wasn't even afraid to do the whole coming out thing if Johnny really wanted that.

First things first, he told himself, and went to get the phone.

"Chocolate," he told his mom, after pleasantries were exchanged and she asked what he wanted. "The nicest Swiss chocolate you can find. Lots of it. I'm on a mission."

She laughed, because she was gracious like that, and promised him she'd send it with express mail as soon as she bought it.

 

~*~

 

After the week he'd had, Johnny, instead of planning and plotting, decided to take Sunday off. He spent it sleeping in, which was why he ignored the ring of the doorbell early in the morning and pretended like he wasn't home before silence fell again and let him go back to sleep. This was the reason why he was taken by surprise when Paris entered his apartment later that day, carrying a flower arrangement, and asked, huge grin on his face,

"Hey, Johnny? Why'd someone send you a wedding bouquet?"

Johnny almost fell off the couch when he saw it, and stared in horror at the huge flower chain Paris was holding up for him. [It was twenty-two snowy white gardenias](http://www.seashellsinbloom.com/images/bouquets/casc-gardenia-bouquet_lg.jpg).

"Does it have a card attached?" Johnny asked, even though he really didn't want to know. He tried to think back to Friday night. He hoped he hadn't made Christopher any false promises. He couldn't remember anything past taking him to an upstairs bedroom to fuck. Naomi would never forgive him if she found out that had been him. "Maybe they're from Naomi," he mumbled. "She'd enjoy the poetic justice of getting my blood all over them."

Paris had found it. His face had lost the glee from before, though. Johnny couldn't quite believe it, but he looked almost touched, and there was a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"What?" he asked.

"Aw, man, look at this. He drew you a picture."

It was indeed a little cartoon, just two pictures side by side, the first one showing two skating boots, turned away from each other, eyes averted, blushing, the second one the boots turned inward, their laces intertwined, their 'noses' touching.

 

Stéphane didn't have much artistic ability with the pen, it wasn't professional or anything, just a silly sketch, [but it was still incredibly cute. Johnny tried hard to not let his feelings show on his face](http://www.box.net/shared/bydvx3lpz3). "It's still creepy," he said aloud.

Paris gave him a sharp smile. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Shut up," Johnny told him and hit his arm. "Just put them in a vase and let's go have lunch. I found this amazing Thai place a few streets away, they serve Laab Pla Ma like you've never eaten before."

"You are so not getting away from me without telling me details," Paris promised, but he didn't even take off his jacket, just went to the kitchen to put the flowers away. He left the card behind.

 

~*~

 

It was original Swiss chocolate Monday night when he got home from a hard day of taking meetings with prospective employers at the agency, just a little box of truffles, but when Johnny tasted them, they melted on his tongue like honey and flooded his mouth with colors, which was about as impossible as seeing a smell or touching music.

"I'm going to get fat," he complained to Tanith when she came to visit Tuesday and he offered her a taste.

"Not from those, you won't," she grinned, looking self-satisfied. "They bring only happiness, I swear on everything that's holy."

He was almost disappointed when he didn't get anything that day.

The next morning, he opened the door to a postman who was holding a little box that was shaped completely different than the one for the chocolates had been. It was ten minutes before he had to leave for Eleanor's. He hadn't had an opportunity to ask about the costume yet, if it had fitted, if they'd met the deadline.

He wasted about two minutes fighting with himself about opening or not opening, then decided to screw Eleanor; she was always late anyway, he had a few more minutes.

It turned out to be a blanket, rolled up inside the box, made of soft plush material, and when he stretched it out, he saw that it had little stitches on it, spelling out his name in the furthest upper corner, Johnny Weir, and little ice skates and mannequins all over, like the ones he'd drawn on that flower card.   
It was a special order. It didn't have a card this time, because it didn't need to. Johnny could almost hear a cheesy voice in his head all the same, saying ' _so you have something to cuddle while I'm not there_ '.

He rolled his eyes. It was starting to get ridiculous. He enjoyed the gifts, of course he did (it was very flattering), but he wasn't sure what to think of them. Stéphane had seemed like he was over Johnny; he hadn't even asked for a dance at Naomi's party, just gone off with some of the models.

Unfortunately, he had no time to pursue the matter any further, because his cell rang, and it was Cynthia, telling him Eleanor was furious because he was late and she had work for him to do, was he on his way already? He lied that there was traffic, went to fetch his bag and then hurried to work.

 

Thursday evening, Stéphane dropped by the studio. Johnny spotted him wandering the halls of the Waldorf Designs building, vanishing into Eleanor's office, and felt more shocked than he should have, seeing as Stéphane was probably there to give feedback on his costume, and nothing else. Still, the first thing he did, apart from ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart, was to head for the vase on his windowsill and hide it behind one of the mannequins. He'd gotten another bouquet the evening before. [Gladiolas this time](http://www.realtygifts.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/KC_RG115_m.jpg), in all the different colors they existed, from a mild yellow over a passionate red to a dark, strong lilac. The card had read, 'Say Yes?'

Johnny had had no idea what to say yes to. Paris had had his suspicions. "He already got in my pants," Johnny had rolled his eyes, and Paris had just cackled like a madman.

"Something going on?" Marie asked him, looking up from her sewing machine.

Johnny still wasn't as good at the sewing as he'd have liked to be. It was a necessity for creating clothes, though, so he had to learn. Marie was his favourite person to learn with despite (or maybe because of) the fact that she was an intern. She was older, had just recently gotten into the fashion business, and most importantly, she was patient, repeated everything until he understood, waited for him to try something whenever he wanted. She also didn't mind helping him out whenever Eleanor thought he needed more groundwork and assigned him material production instead of development and design.

"No, everything's fine," Johnny said. "I just saw Stéphane duck into Eleanor's office, and - well. We're not on the best terms right now, so."

"Why not?" Marie smiled. "He's very nice. I worked with him on Sunday. He was quite impatient, but I think that was more because he was tired. I hear you guys had a long night?"

Johnny shrugged, sheepish. "I don't know about him. Tanith said they went home around 1am or something? I did stay out late."

"Ah. Date?"

"Just hooking up."

"Hm." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a cheeky grin deepening her laugh lines. "Do you like him, then?"

"What? No!"

"You're acting like your sweetheart's coming to see you."

"My - what?" Johnny spluttered. "Who even speaks like that anymore? My _sweetheart_? What century did you timetravel from?"

Marie threw her head back and laughed. "All right. I believe you. He _is_ the one who sent you the flowers, though, right?"

Johnny glanced back at the spot where the hidden vase was standing. "That doesn't mean anything," he muttered. "It's just flowers."

"Ah, ah, don't talk to me about 'just flowers', my dear. I know the language of the flora, remember, I spent the last twenty years of my life working my flower shop down the street!" Marie put her hands on her hips.

"All right, all right." Johnny humored her. "What kind of special are they, then?"

"Gladiolas," Marie explained, taking on her teacher-voice, the one that wasn't at all annoying, which had been a surprise to Johnny. "Also called Sword Lilies, though they don't belong to the family of the Lillies. Some can grow up to four feet, if you care for them right." Her smile turned sly. "Actually, Morrissey adopted the Gladiola when he became part of The Smith's back in the early 80s. He used to carry a few of them around to photoshoots and concerts. Not that you kids even remember that."

"Hey! I wasn't even born till 84, how would I know?" Johnny protested. "Also, you still haven't said what they're supposed to mean."

"Ah. That's the fun part, isn't it. Let's see. Generosity. Strength and moral integrity. And generally, it's given as a sign of admiration and passion, and love-at-first-sight." She winked. "I don't know about you, but I think he definitely wants to tell you something."

"Shut up," Johnny muttered. "It's not like that."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Ask me what?" Stéphane asked from the doorway.

Johnny jumped, startled. "Nothing." He flattened his hair and shrugged. "We were just - um. Hey. How's the costume? Does it fit?"

Stéphane smiled. "It's perfect. I came by to say thank you for your hard work. Both of you, really." He bowed, and then pulled up his bag and reached inside to take out two little wrapped packages. "It's not a lot, um. But I thought you might like it." He walked up to Marie first. "Thank you a lot for your fast work. I didn't think anyone would be able to put it together in barely a night."

"It wasn't a big deal," she chuckled, accepting the gift graciously. "But you're very welcome. I would be honored to work with you again."

"And me." Stéphane touched her hand.

Johnny felt something in his chest twist when Stéphane turned towards him and stepped until they were barely a foot apart. He held out the second package.

"Thanks," Johnny murmured and took it.

"I know we had a bit of a hard time," Stéphane said. He sounded awkward, almost self-conscious, which was definitely a first. "But I hope you still had _some_ fun with it, even if I know it's not what you want to do when you grow up to be the king of your fashion imperium."

Johnny coughed on his laughter. "Well," he said. "At least you didn't say 'queen'."

Stéphane grinned wonkily and rubbed his thumb over the inside of Johnny's wrist. Johnny felt his body react and had to look down at his feet, warmth pooling in his stomach. He didn't pull away, though, enjoying the touch.

"I should go," Stéphane said, when Marie cleared her throat.

"And we should go back to work," Johnny heard himself say.

Stéphane pointed at the package. "If you decide to come. I'd love that a lot." Then he wandered out.

Marie didn't stop giggling at him until he told her to really just let it go or he'd throw his scissors at her, which might kill her and land him on death row, and really, she didn't want to be the source of such tragedy, did she? No, he didn't think so.

 

~*~  


  
[Panic At The Disco - She Had The World](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

The package was another box of chocolates, different flavors than the first one even though it was the same brand. There was an envelope taped to the top. Johnny carefully unglued it and opened it once he got home that evening.

Inside were two tickets. Front row seats, 6.30pm at a rink in New York, about half an hour from his apartment. The show was on Saturday evening. He had a social event then, but though he'd been to skating shows, it had never been one like this, and it had never been the best seats in the house. There had never been Stéphane Lambiel, Olympic Silver Medalist, World Champion of the past two years, skating in any of them.

There had never been Stéphane Lambiel, presenting a new program, with a costume courtesy of Waldorf Designs, created by Johnny Weir, skating in any of them.

' _Plz get ur ass over here asap_ ', he texted Paris, and settled down in front of his computer to google this show.

Paris must have torn out of his own building as soon as he got the message, because he arrived about five minutes later, out of breath, having run up the stairs. "Tell me it's something _good_ ," he begged, "Because life has it in for me right now, and I need cheering up."

"I don't know if it's _good_ good," Johnny said hesitantly. "But if you wanted, you could go with me to an ice skating show where the best figure skaters in the world present show programs and, like, sit front row?"

Paris' expression turned from whiny into a grin. "Let me guess," he said. "The boyfriend sent you tickets?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Might as well be, what with the love he's giving you." Paris started to hum a song under his breath.

"Shut up," Johnny yelped and threw a pillow at his head. "I don't even know if I want to go or anything. I keep telling him I'm not interested. He's not stopping, though, so I don't know whether to be flattered or scared."

Paris rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not like I see him waiting behind your window, watching you sleep. He's just sending you sweet presents and trying to, like, win your affection by being the adorable Swissman that he is. I'm a fan! Can we please go?"

"But I don't even -"

"Seriously?" Paris sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. "Johnny. Let me explain the basics to you, again, because I have a feeling you might have forgotten them, _again_. You had sexytimes with him at least twice _that I know of_ -"

"Twice, okay?"

"You sure? No secret handjobs or making out I don't know nothing about?"

Johnny flushed.

"So. You're obviously into him in an I-have-the-hots-for-you, let-me-sex-you-up kind of way."

"Yes, but -"

"You spent a lot of time with him. Way more than anyone else you've fucked recently."

"Work time -"

"And I haven't heard yet that he, like, treated you badly during that time -"

"He did -"

"- unless provoked by Her Bitchy Ladyship -"

"That's not fair, it's not my fault he can't keep his temper!"

Paris poked his arm. "I know you. Don't bullshit me. You probably drove him to his outer limits. You can't expect anyone to just cower and take it when you're being mean. At least he knows how to stand up for himself and doesn't let you abuse him as your punching bag."

Johnny glared. "So what? That doesn't mean I have to like him."

"No. No, it really doesn't. But I think you sort of do. I think you can't admit it because you're a total idiot when it comes to romantic relationships." Paris took his shoulders and shook him, before making him focus. "Don't be a total idiot anymore, Johnny. Just give it a chance. You don't have to marry this guy, all wedding flower arrangements aside. He's into you. I'm pretty sure his mommy raised him to be a perfect gentleman as long as you keep your sharp tongue a _little_ in check."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Johnny tugged out of Paris' grip and fell back into his cushions. "Fine," he gave in. "Fine, I get it, you _really_ want to go to this show. Whatever, if it makes you happy."

Paris crowed and punched the air.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to date him, though," Johnny warned.

"You know what," Paris snorted. "Feel free to fuck yourself over as much as you like, darling. As long as I get to go. Maybe I'll meet some hot figure skater all by myself and manage to hook him. Wouldn't that be awesome? I've always wanted to ask Surya Bonaly if she's got a hot brother."

 

~*~  


  
[14 Inara George - Fools In Love](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

The show was fantastic. Johnny enjoyed all the performances, especially by the ladies and the ice dance teams, who had the most beautiful costumes. He'd never been especially interested in ice dancing, but he could see where creating costumes for them might be fun.

Stéphane was one of the last to go on the ice. Johnny had been wondering if he should have visited his practice sometime, just to see how the costume looked on him, but in the moment Stéphane slid into the center of the smooth surface, he was glad he hadn't. With the lighting, the glittering of the ice beneath his skates, the way Stéphane looked right at him before slipping into the role and his starting position, it felt like this was a performance just for him, to showcase the costume to _him_.

The program felt like a trance. His whole body was thrumming with energy when the last notes of the song passed, leaving complete silence in the arena before the audience as one broke into applause, standing ovations and the sound of cowbells ringing loudly.

Johnny got up slowly, and couldn't take his eyes off Stéphane's beautiful face, the way it was glowing with pride; it had been clean, it had been _perfect_ , the feeling had been there, introspective and gentle as well as with a passion that transcended words.

"Shit," Paris whooped next to him, clapping hard. "That was _amazing_."

"Yeah," Johnny whispered. He watched Stéphane bow, watched him blow kisses into the audience, in all directions, watched him bow again until he started stroking towards the exit.

There was a pause, just half a minute in which the commentators collected themselves, praising the program, the music choice, _the costume_ , and Paris chose that moment to lean over and say into his ear,

"You're such a dumbass."

Johnny felt the heat climb to his face, and in that moment, he knew exactly what Paris was talking about. The gift hadn't been the _tickets_. [God, he was so stupid.](http://www.box.net/shared/0u7il72vlz)

 

~*~

 

Stéphane had seen Johnny in the crowd, which had been a surprise all in itself. He hadn't been sure if Johnny would be interested in the show. It had been a source of nerves all through the practice sessions, wondering whether he'd show up, if it would be good enough for him to _get_ what Stéphane wanted to tell him.

What he didn't expect at all was for Johnny to finagle his way into the backstage area, just to meet up with him for a few seconds.

"Wow," he said, blinking. "I - sorry, I didn't expect. Huh. How did you even get past security?"

Johnny grinned and rubbed his neck. "I smiled?"

They stood staring at each other in awkward silence - oh, to have a penny for every awkward silence they'd endured around each other - until Stéphane collected himself.

"Did you like the show?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder. "It was really fun. Thank you for the tickets. Paris enjoyed it a lot."

"What about you?" Stéphane bit his lip.

"Yeah. I - I did. Enjoy it. Especially your program." Johnny swallowed. "The costume looks amazing on you. And it fits the theme of the whole piece really well."

Stéphane smiled slowly. "It does. Thanks again."

"Yeah. You're welcome. Um." Johnny stepped from one foot onto the other. "I think I should go. You probably have a lot to do, and your friends..." He took a step back. "I don't want to be in the way. I just wanted to come by personally, and thank you for the seats, and for inviting me, you know."

"Anytime."

"All right. Bye?"

Stéphane caught himself just as Johnny was turning around to take off. "Wait," he called.

He hadn't imagined the beginning of a hopeful look this time, even though it vanished almost immediately from Johnny's face when he realized Stéphane was watching him closely. It had been there. And Johnny had stopped. Maybe...

"I'm still in New York till Tuesday," he tried. "We have another show Monday. If you wanted, um. You seemed to get the hang of skating pretty fast last time. I was wondering if. If you would be interested. It doesn't have to be, like. If you don't want it to be, but I would like if you came to that rink we went to last time, maybe to skate a few laps? I know there's no costume to make this time, but -"

"Yeah." Johnny licked his lips and nodded. "Yes, I'd like to. Send me when you'll pick me up?"

"Oh." Stéphane blinked. "Really?"

Johnny chuckled nervously. "I think so."

"Oh. All right. I've got your email, right?"

"Or my home address, yeah," Johnny teased.

Stéphane stared after him when he left, until Viktor came up and hit his shoulder. "Getting ready to head out in a while?"

"Yeah..." Stéphane said slowly. "Yeah, I think that would be nice." He hoped he hadn't just imagined that. He wondered if Tanith had her fingers in Johnny's half of this working out, too. He wouldn't put it past her.

 

~*~  


  
[101 Dido - Don't Believe In Love](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 

It was like a déjà-vue from the last time Stéphane had picked Johnny up by his apartment building to go ice skating, or at least that's what it seemed like until he pulled up. This time, Johnny was wearing a white jacket, and he appeared to have a black onesie underneath it with a stylish scarf around his waist. He was also in a much better mood, because when Stéphane greeted him, he replied with an almost uncannily nice, "I'm really good, thank you. How was your day?"

"Lots of practice," Stéphane admitted. "I'm sorry I'm running late." It was just five minutes, but still. It was bad form.

Johnny shifted in his seat. "It's fine."

They kept up the small talk until they arrived at the rink. It felt very strange, after the downright poisonous word-battles of the past few weeks, to sit in a car with a perfectly polite Johnny Weir and hear him reply to everything with polish and grace. Stéphane bit his lip and wondered how it was possible that he missed the previous version. It was like a bad system upgrade, where the system suddenly decided to be impeccable and yet not to do anything you actually wanted it to do.

He had enough by the time Johnny put on his skates without a single grumble over the fit.

"Did the aliens come to get you?" he asked, because by the heavens he could not find a better way to word it.

Johnny blinked. "What?"

"You're being really weird."

"How am I being weird?" Johnny let go of his skates and narrowed his eyes. "I've done exactly what you wanted, right? I'm not rude, or crude, or socially incorrect, I don't get on your nerves anymore, and I don't pick fights with you. So what am I doing wrong now?"

"You weren't - okay." Stéphane took a deep breath and counted to three. Then to five. "Okay, you were driving me crazy before," he admitted. "But this is just _stupid_. I don't want to date a robot. I just wanted you to be you."

"You don't like _me_ , remember?"

"I like you fine." Stéphane tugged hard at his laces.

"So you're not still wondering why you're even attracted to me?"

Stéphane growled in irritation. "I _knew_ you would hold that one against me forever. I was angry, I just said that to lash back out at you because you were being insufferable."

"Right. Like a... what was it. Childish brat?"

Stéphane stood up. "Right," he said. "At least you're back to normal again. That's something." Then he stalked out of the changing room and towards the ice.

 

Johnny caught up with him on his first round around the ice. He was getting better, even after just one practice. Stéphane would have been jealous if he hadn't just proven a few months ago that he was one of the best figure skaters on the planet. He wondered for a second how things would have turned out if Johnny had taken up skating instead of modelling. Would they have been competing for the medals those past few years? Would Johnny be beating them all out by sheer talent?

"I don't mean to be like that."

Stéphane slowed down and allowed Johnny to catch his wrist. It was the first time that he remembered Johnny actively seeking that contact. He was sure there must have been instances before, but he couldn't think of any. His stomach did a flip.

"I don't mean to keep pushing, but I can't help it sometimes. I tried to be nice, but you can see how that worked out. You didn't like that either."

"I just don't understand why it's different with me," Stéphane told him, and nodded at their joined hands. "You can be you and still be nice with your friends. Even with some people who're maybe just acquaintances, like Viktor and his family, Marie, or - or even Eleanor Waldorf, from what I saw."

"That's because they're my friends. Or acquaintances, I guess." Johnny looked at him like he was being stupid.

"So treat me like a friend."

"But you're not."

That hurt. Stéphane pulled away and shrugged. "All right."

"Stéphane." Johnny made a frustrated sound. "I didn't mean - I just meant that you want to be more than a friend? You want to be boyfriends, or whatever."

"It's fine if you don't want to be," Stéphane told him. "I'd like that, but if you want to be friends, we can try that. I just like you, okay? It's not like the only reason I want to get to know you is to have a passionate romance with you. It's not like I expect you to, like, fall in love with me and stay together for the rest of our lives." He stopped at the boards and held on, waiting till Johnny arrived next to him so they could look at each other properly. "It's not like it's that easy anyway. I'm a figure skater, I'm constantly on the move. In two days, I'll be up in Boston, and touring through Conneticut, and then headed west. The show's a few weeks. and who knows where I'll be after that. I don't want to leave Switzerland completely either. I love my family, so I want to stay close to them."

Johnny shrugged, but he was listening, Stéphane could tell. When he didn't interrupt, Stéphane continued, "It wouldn't be like we'd be sitting on top of each other all day. I need my freedom too, and my time by myself. I have a lot of work, and I want to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I'm not asking for a lot, okay? Just maybe to spend a day here and there having fun, getting to know each other. It would be cool if we, like. Realized at some point that we fit. Until then, we can just try to enjoy ourselves."

Johnny made a sound, but he didn't say anything still. Stéphane rubbed his forehead and shrugged, giving a timid smile. "You could at least try to act like you're around - I don't know. Paris is your best friend, right?"

For a moment, he thought Johnny might protest, and say it was impossible or that he didn't want any of that. After all, he had said he wasn't into relationships. He seemed to be doing fine with friendships, but, who knew. Stéphane was certainly at the end of his rope for what else he could do.

But then Johnny looked up, and his eyes were clear when he smiled back, a little shy, too, but maybe also like he was looking forward to it. Stéphane let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"You wanna skate now, or what?" Johnny asked, and the smile widened. "I tried jumping on the ground in my apartment, and now I wanna try it on ice. I think I managed, like, three-quarters of a flip or something. You'll have to tell me."

And with that, he took off, just like the last time, but the last time, Stéphane hadn't been watching him with a sensation of growing hope that maybe, he hadn't been fighting for nothing after all.

 

~*~  


  
[Part-time Lover - Stevie Wonder - Parttime Lover](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

They spent the rest of the evening chasing each other through the rink, trying that pair-skating again that made Johnny's heart flutter like crazy, every time Stéphane put his hands on his waist and twirled him like he weighted nothing. It was strange how the assurance of _space_ , and the fact that Johnny sort-of, kind-of believed Stéphane now, had managed to calm him down enough that he didn't react to every statement like it was a threat to his shields.

When the last people left, five minutes before closing time, and the music stopped, they were laughing from Johnny's attempts at an axel.

"It worked at home!" Johnny protested when Stéphane doubled over with giggles. "I swear, I tried and I got the full revolutions, but here! How is it possible that it's so much harder on the ice?"

"Come on, we have to leave, or they'll throw us out," Stéphane snickered at him.

"No, once more, come on."

"You come on." Stéphane skated over and tapped his hip. "You have to get all your strength here and try to spin _harder_. You have to really want it."

"I told you -"

He didn't manage to finish the sentence because Stéphane pressed their lips together. Johnny hadn't expected that and almost lost balance, but Stéphane was holding on strong, and Johnny just let it all go and enjoyed the kiss, the feeling of his tongue, their lips touching, over and over, melted into it because it felt warm and good.

It was over far too quickly.

"We have to leave now," Stéphane muttered into his mouth, smiling.

Johnny shoved at his shoulder and groaned. "You did that on purpose so I wouldn't have time for one more attempt."

"Prove it," Stéphane grinned and started skating towards the exit.

 

~*~

 

They didn't have sex that night, mainly because they accidentally repeated their first encounter and fell asleep on top of each other on the couch during making out. It was all Stéphane's fault; he'd insisted on taking Johnny out to a _really good Italian restaurant_ , that apparently made Italian food European-style, unlike all the other Italian places that _cheated_. The indignation in Stéphane's voice had been too hilarious to resist.

The next morning, they had waffles with blueberries, and they commiserated on the fact that they only could eat one each.

 

[In the end, they said goodbye on Johnny's doorstep](http://www.box.net/shared/4hac1ddnbd), where Stéphane had driven him after they'd finished breakfast and shared a shower - with sex, this time. The drive over had been quiet, almost subdued.

"Thanks. That was really nice," Stéphane said and kissed him on the lips, just a little peck.

Johnny looked away. "I'm not sure..."

"I know." Stéphane touched his cheek and shrugged. "Don't worry. Next time we see each other, we can just pretend it's one day again. If we do."

Johnny pulled him in for a real kiss at that. It was deep and desperate and he didn't want to let go, not really, but he also felt that his hands were getting sweaty and he had to. It wasn't fair.

"Maybe some day?" he offered.

Stéphane nodded. "You should be proud," he said. "As inspiration goes, this was a funny way to meet it again."

"Such a poet," Johnny laughed, rolling his eyes.

"I'll keep sending gifts, by the way," Stéphane told him. "If you want me to."

Johnny flushed. "I'd like that." Then added, "You could keep a PO box, too. I think I might... you know. Send some stuff back. And your email. If I ever want to get advice on designs. Who knows, I might get to design some figure skating costumes again."

It wasn't a sad goodbye, not really. Johnny closed the door when Stéphane turned to go, and leaned back against it, staring at his ceiling. Long way to go, he told himself, and thought back to the program, the costume, the expression on Stéphane's face. _Idiot_ , he thought to himself, and went to work on his fashion imperium.

 

~*~

Encore:

The next time they meet, Johnny opens the door in those 500€ high heeled sandals and a skimpy dress.  
Thanks for the mental image, !

 

~ The End ~

 

Songs for the whole Story:

  
[01 - The Hush Sound - We Intertwined](http://www.musicdumper.com/)

 _In a field outside of town we could always be alone  
Carry a blanket maybe a basket - and that's it  
Innocence was the key I was locked up never free  
Until you turned me_

  
~*~

[The Truth About Me](http://www.box.net/shared/4hac1ddnbd)

 _when I go too long without  
seeing your sweet face   
around  
I, maybe I'm at your door_

~*~

[Two Birds on a Wire](http://www.box.net/shared/vjysdv11km)

 _Two birds on a wire  
One tries to fly away  
And the other watches him close from that wire  
He says he wants to as well  
But he is a liar_

I'll believe it all  
There's nothing I won't understand

I'll believe it all  
I won't let go of your hand

~~~

And finally:  
[Here's most of the music from the play-parts of the fic](http://www.mediafire.com/?fzydtwmnqgw). Have fun listening.

~*~


End file.
